


Mori Velle

by SpitfireRose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a sad ending, Ardyn Being Ardyn, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Depression, Game Spoilers, Gen, Heartache, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, If you skip 16, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, It just depends on the kind of reader you are, It's a matter of perspective really, Language Barrier, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, Nightmares, Nothing new I promise, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Worth Issues, Temporary Minor Character Death That Doesn't Last, Touch-Starved, hunger, throwing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: NH-05953233 serves the Empire and understands only what is necessary to follow orders. A chance encounter with a child test subject malfunctions the MT's programmed mind to feeling what it never was, but wants to.Human.This is their story.(Literally can be considered as an MT!Prompto fic as well)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled: "Rose's huge indulgence of a fic that evolved into more than the one thing she wanted".
> 
> And nope, NH-05953233 is not Prompto.

NH-05953233 obeys orders. It lives to serve the Empire, has been trained to since before it can remember. The unit has endured the harshest of training, the deadliest of tests, and the most lethal doses of daemon blood that’ve claimed many MTs before it. The scientists in their white lab coats call it a ‘success’, that they’re ‘pleased’ with the results. NH-05953233 does not understand what this means, and does not question what it does not need to know. It comprehends all that is necessary to obey orders, and nothing more.

When told to shoot, it shoots. It performs vigorous exercises until ordered to cease, no matter the amount of hours that pass. It patrols the halls for intruders, keeping guard like the sentries in their high watchtowers. It marches in perfect sync with the rest of its kind, hundreds of units moving as one across the frozen courtyards. NH-05953233 returns to its pod when dismissed at the end of the day, recharging until ready to be called upon again for the exact same routine. Endless, like clockwork. Never changing.

There is only one inconsistency, one that NH-05953233 observes when patrolling the chambers beneath the catwalk. The small subject has been removed again, likely having performed inadequately with the cell left empty at this time. The thing had only been there for seventeen days, if NH-05953233’s data can be trusted--and it can. They had been lively at first like the rest, thrashing at the bars until a man with glasses had beckoned for a MT unit to deliver it to the laboratories.

_Human Test Subject #22_ . The clipboard had read, hanging on the wall. _Age: 11. Male. Injection to be given daily with increased doses. Keep under observation. Notes: Bites. Wear gloves._

The subject would be gone until NH-05953233 returned, left a lying, twitching heap on the concrete flooring. Thick black liquid would be seen pooling out of its mouth with each hacking cough, dripping down cheeks in place of tears like the previous twenty-one had cried before taken away for the first time.

It reminds NH-05953233 of a time it does not wish to.

Twenty-two of these subjects has not made it easier, all vanishing in the end after ‘dying’ like the head scientist would complain of.

NH-05953233 ignores the malfunction that brings ache it does not understand, and obeys the orders it is given.

NH-05953233 follows orders.

* * *

 

There is a new ‘human test subject’ when NH-05953233 goes down for the morning patrol. They’re the smallest by far, and the youngest number input for ‘age’. 

_Seven._

The subject just stands there. Watching with eyes like the rare color in the sky when NH-05953233 looks up at the watchtowers. A color that isn’t black, white, or the shades in between. The color that all MTs’ eyes used to be before the tests. Back when NH-05953233 was this pathetic and weak. A ‘child’, but not human like this one. NH-05953233 is not human. It is a machine to serve the Empire. The upgrades and ports have made it so, as informed by the scientists.

_A ‘success’._

“You there. Boss man wants the girl in his labs. She goes to the Experimental Department. You got that?” One of the many assistants passes NH-05953233 by with a yawn, mumbling about needing a can of ‘Ebony’ before ‘dealing with this shit’.

NH-05953233 has ‘got that’, but does not understand. It is not the MT unit designated for this specific task that it has seen take the subjects and return after each test. It does not question orders, however, and the assistant is already gone even if it was allowed to. NH-05953233 opens the cell door, expects resistance like NH-01091994 has always dealt with until the target was too weak to fight back.

Human Test Subject #23 looks up at it, head tilting to the side as it extends its arm to grasp hers. Nimble fingers slip into its gauntlet instead, child looking up at him with a bizarre curve on her lips like the MT has noted the scientists and trainers do when pleased. NH-05953233 does not understand the action. The child should not be pleased. The child knows nothing. The child does not know what NH-05953233 does.

The child does not know that they will be injected with daemon blood, and NH-05953233 does not-

NH-05953233 does not want anything. It is an MT. MTs want nothing. If anything, orders in which to obey. NH-05953233 has its orders. It will obey them. Human Test Subject #23 will be taken to the Experimental Department, and NH-05953233 will await further commands.

Human Test Subject #23 does not struggle, choosing to hop from one tile to the next while keeping her hand in its with a swinging motion. NH-05953233 does not understand the purpose, does not understand when those sky-colored eyes look up at it hopefully. Pleased. NH-05953233 gives no indication that it is anything, because it is nothing. The subject resumes skipping at its side as NH-05953233 navigates down the winding corridors.

_It would be easy to never reach the destination._

NH-05953233 immediately dismisses the idea. MTs do not have ideas. That is a malfunction. A defect. The unit has its orders, and it is to take the child to the Experimental Department. NH-05953233 will do what it is told and it will see Human Test Subject #23 in a writhing, bloodied mess on the cold, concrete floor at the end of the day until they are dead.

Human Test Subject #23 lets out a pained noise, weakly trying to pull her hand out of its tightened grasp. It does not recall increasing the strength of its grip. NH-05953233 is not ordered to release, obeys no orders except those given by superiors, and the child is certainly not one. Yet, the MT malfunctions and slackens the hold.

“ _Thank you_.” The ‘girl’ is pleased again, and repeats the odd walk of jumping steps.

NH-05953233 malfunctions again, unable to process the words. _Praise_. From a _non superior_. The MT knows it is praise, has heard the phrase exchanged between various persons when something kind is done. NH-05953233 does not know why the automated response whirs in its mind, yet is left unspoken beneath the muffle of the mask. The child is not welcome. NH-05953233 should have never done that to begin with, but it hasn’t been ordered to go back to holding so tightly.

If the scientists find out about its poor performance, it will be corrected. NH-05953233 does not like corrections, but it knows they are necessary. Malfunctions are unacceptable. Only humans have malfunctions, and NH-05953233 is not human.

They reach the Experimental Department. One door away from entering the labs, and NH-05953233’s task will be complete. Yet, it feels no pride like it always has at being useful. Human Test Subject #23 has stopped, waiting for NH-05953233 to presumably open the door they stand before.

_It would be so easy not-_

NH-05953233 opens the door.

The head scientist, the man with the glasses, is pleased to see them. The assistant from earlier is present and scribbling on the clipboard. Another man just stands there.

“Guard the door, MT. Can’t have another brat pulling shit like the last one.” The superior orders, and NH-05953233 obeys, standing in front of the door shut behind them. He yanks the girl’s arm from the MT’s lenient hold, and he is pleased. “Didn’t even try to run, eh? We’ll see how that changes.”

Human Test Subject #23 releases a sound that tears in NH-05953233’s chest port. It ignores the malfunction. It has orders to stay at the door, and it will not disobey.

“Lacerti, hold her down. Adiutor, the restraints.”

“On it, sir.”

NH-05953233 watches the man called ‘Lacerti’ take Human Test Subject #23 from the superior, pulling her towards the table with belts that the MT does not want to remember. Now the child resists for the first time, clearly not pleased at the sight and being lead towards it. NH-05953233’s vision is never deceitful. The MT knows the child is not looking at the closed door by means of escape, but _it_.

NH-05953233 does not move. It has orders to stay at the door, malfunctions or no. Lacerti hoists the child up, Human Test Subject #23 squirming and crying to no avail, each limb restrained after fruitless efforts to break free from the crafty assistant. There have been twenty-two subjects that NH-05953233 knows prior to her. One so small and weak is nothing.

“Bet this one won’t last the week.”

“Bet you a can of Ebony it won’t be a day.”

“You’re on.”

NH-05953233’s hand that held the girl’s shakes.

_Malfunction. Malfunction._ _Ignore it._

Human Test Subject #23 is whimpering, distressed noises that don’t make ignoring the malfunctions any easier. NH-05953233 has its _orders_.

“Adiutor, I trust you’re taking notes instead of bets?”

“Y-Yes, sir.” NH-05953233 hears the utterance under her breath that she ‘never loses anyway’.

The man with glasses holds up a needle that NH-05953233 knows only too well. The child knows nothing, but the fear of the impending unknown and gravity of the nightmare makes the terror palpable. Lacerti ups the bet to two cans. Adiutor accepts. The superior flicks the vial of black liquid, thick ooze dripping out from the tip.

Human Test Subject #23 looks at _it_.

The needle is so perilously close to piercing the child’s skin.

NH-05953233 hears the plea that none of them do, or choose not to.

The next NH-05953233 is aware of is that the head scientist is on the ground, glasses smashed to pieces along with the shattered needle. NH-05953233 blinks, and Lacerti is down. The MT unit’s fists have sustained damage. It cannot acknowledge when it had left the ordered post at the door that is now open. Adiutor is gone.

Human Test Subject #23 is staring up at it with those brilliantly colored eyes that cannot be any wider.

NH-05953233 is malfunctioning. Malfunctioning, _malfunctioning_ , **_malfunctioning_** _._

The restraints are no match for an MT at full potential, yet NH-05953233 has never felt weaker. This is _wrong_. It is _malfunctioning._ But for every whispered tearful of praise, NH-05953233 feels stronger, like this is _right_.

_This is not right._

NH-05953233 failed the order to guard the door. It assaulted a _superior_. The corrections will be most severe, if allowed to even live. NH-05953233 knows what happens to MTs that cease obeying orders altogether, those cannot meet the strict requirements to serve the Empire. It does not know entirely what becomes of them, being an obedient machine that does what is commanded, only that defective MTs do not return the next day, or the one after. Another takes their place like nothing has changed, and more tests are run to assure that never happens to the rest the units.

NH-05953233 obeys orders. NH-05953233 should not be-

Human Test Subject #23 is no longer bound to the table, and the MT does not recall having finished destroying the binds. Liquid that is not the spilled inky black drips down her cheeks, legs not functioning fully to keep her upright. She sways, leaning against NH-05953233 with frail arms wrapping around its armored waist. The MT does not understand the purpose of the action or why the subject stays like that for twelve seconds, cut off by the wail of an alarm. Human Test Subject #23 jumps at the piercing shrill, unlike the man with the broken glasses and Lacerti both remaining incapacitated on the floor. It is the siren signifying at the highest alert level that NH-05953233 has been well-versed in drills.

**“** **_Attention all units. This is not a drill. A rogue MT has been reported in the Experimental Department and is on a rampage. Repeat, this is not a drill. Eliminate the threat for the glory of the Empire._ ** **”**

It is an order. NH-05953233 must obey. It cannot afford another failure. If it is lucky, it won’t be corrected as harshly if it can eliminate the threat. Human Test Subject #23 has taken notice of the unresponsive bodies, a horrified whisper that NH-05953233 cannot process over the repeat of orders over the blaring alert. The MT pivots to execute the order, marching only a step forward before Human Test Subject #23 lets out a cry, tripping over to embrace its arm.

_“D-Don’t leave me.”_ The girl quietly begs, the softest order that NH-05953233 has ever heard. “ _Please.”_

NH-05953233 can...can not...

Human Test Subject #23 slips her hand in its, grips with a strength it hadn’t thought the feeble frame to possess.

“ _Please.”_

NH-05953233 follows orders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escape to a new day.

NH-05953233 patrols down the short hallway with rifle ready to fire, Human Test Subject #23 clutching to its free hand like the tests all MTs endured to perfect their grip or die in failure. The alarm echoes down the chambers along with their footsteps, neon red lights flashing and casting shadows twice their size in pursuit. The threat will be eliminated in no time, area effectively on lockdown from what NH-05953233 can detect, every laboratory door sealed tight.

Human Test Subject #23 hasn’t made any other orders, at least nothing verbal that NH-05953233 can interpret. She no longer performs the skip-jump motion, instead taking stumbling steps to keep up with the MT’s stealthy march of a stride, constantly bumping into its side in her goal to remain as close as possible. NH-05953233 is...pleased without the physical indication of showing that it is beneath the mask. It hasn’t the capability, anyway, for being programmed to not feel a thing. This must be another malfunction, chest ports tingling like static with a warm sensation.

The defect ends at the thundering stampede of synchronized footfalls, announcing the impending arrival of fellow MT units. NH-05953233 tightens its hold as the girl does with a whimper, unsure why it does to begin with. There is no threat but the one ordered to be eliminated. Together as one, the rogue MT will be hunted and eliminated as ordered. NH-05953233 will no doubt face the corrections it has coming afterwards, but at least it will not be eliminated. It wonders very briefly what will become of the child while it is gone to be corrected for the malfunctions.

It does not like what will inevitably occur. It wants-

Human Test Subject #23 halts suddenly, and NH-05953233 follows suit without intending to. Marching around the corner comes a small squad of MTs armed and ready. NH-05953233 is pleased to see them, much like the commanding officer that gestures in their direction. Adiutor stands behind him, pointing at the subject that ‘is not to be damaged’.

“Eliminate the rogue MT.” The superior orders, and NH-05953233 turns on its heels, expecting to see the rogue, rampaging unit as described by the disembodied voice.

There is no one.

NH-05953233 can hear each individual clip click into place, ammunition ready to dispense at but a finger’s triggering touch. It comes to the harrowing conclusion that there is no haywire trooper to hunt down, for it is already been located.

**_NH-05953233_ ** _is the rogue MT to be eliminated._

Human Test Subject #23 lets out a cry, pulled with all the enhanced strength NH-05953233 has to protectively propel her backwards behind it. The superior officer commands to open fire despite Adiutor’s countering orders about the well-being of the subject that ‘better be captured alive after all this shit’.

NH-05953233 follows orders.

It shoots, and neither officer nor assistant are pleased as they swear and take cover behind the armored soldiers. Returning rounds are deafening in the chambers, but not as loud as Human Test Subject #23 wailing in sheer terror from shells bouncing at bare feet, hands plastered against ears. NH-05953233 has been trained for outnumbered situations like this, that it is expendable and raised to serve in place of human troops. It watches accurate shots take down two MT units, sparks crackling at their foreheads before collapsing in a heap with a dying screech. The four remaining troopers at their sides do not so much as flinch, undisturbed to the disturbing sight.

Human Test Subject #23 will not survive if NH-05953233 fails here, light-proof armor riddled by deadly aim. It cannot accept that outcome. NH-05953233 knows how many bullets remain in each of their clips, knows the brief window of time to it takes to reload. It cannot risk the child’s chances of survival with its’ odds of outgunning the rest. MTs do not retreat, but MTs also do not have malfunctions, disobey orders, assault superiors, or fire at other MTs. There is no amount of corrections that will fix NH-05953233, if not eliminated here and now. Human Test Subject #23 ordered it not to leave her. It cannot be eliminated. It must-

Without warning, a canister flies out from where, NH-05953233 cannot pinpoint, heavily bouncing on tile flooring before exploding with a blinding flash and bang. Its sensors are temporarily offline, relying on backup vision to make out silhouettes of equally stunned MTs. The superior officer is shouting, demanding to know where the hell that came from between hacking coughs, blindly squinting to locate NH-05953233 and Human Test Subject #23 to no effect. It does not know where ‘the hell’ was. It knows only one thing, spurred into action by the girl slumping against its back, hands fallen from her ears in unconsciousness. NH-05953233 picks up the child that weighs nothing, holds her differently than its been trained to carry incapacitated troops by slinging them over its shoulder. The rogue MT cradles her close in its arms, knowledgeable enough about human weakness that its armor provides far more protection than the thin fabrics they wear.

It can hear Adiutor sputter and shout, ordering it to stop yet not having the means to halt the functioning MT even if she wanted to, as if words alone will do the job.

NH-05953233 does not follow orders.

* * *

Human Test Subject #23 regains consciousness by the time NH-05953233 has snuck them out of the Experimental Department. She whimpers upon awakening, and the MT puts a finger to its mask’s lips in the non verbal gesture for silence. To its surprise the child obeys, but liquid still leaks from opening eyes that only grow wider at pursuers giving chase down the twisting maze of halls, hiccuping cries barely stifled behind trembling hands. She cannot see them from where NH-05953233 holds her against its chest port, and neither can it, keeping one step ahead and ducking inside empty, unlocked rooms it does not recognize until the danger momentarily passes. The alarms still blare overhead that the rogue, rampaging MT unit has not been eliminated, and further areas are to go under lockdown. If it can get them to the courtyards, the child’s vitality will raise significantly. NH-05953233 can be sure of this, trained in how to survive in the most severe of climates. The further they advance, however, the tighter security becomes to the Outside. The order to not leave and keep Human Test Subject #23 safe will not be completed if NH-05953233 is captured.

It has never wanted to fulfill an order more, thinks it more than an order but does not understand how anything could be beyond that. MTs do not have desires of any kind. Only humans have desires, yet another weakness snuffed out of the unfeeling machine.

NH-05953233 can only alter their route so many times, only so many ways of exiting the facility that it knows from endless days of its routine patrols. The MT has no intentions of returning to the Experimental Department, skirting as close as it dares before re-routing at the stomping echoes of squadrons so perilously close. Once, twice, NH-05953233 comes across the briefing area full of screens that always watch the halls. None of them are on, buzzing ineffectively in black and white. NH-05953233 does not have the time to ponder why. It does, however, take notice on the second turnaround that there is one area in view. The docking bay where airships are kept is vacant, and so the MT determines it to be a suitable location to lay low. There is no choice in the matter, running out of the room like it is running out of precious time.

NH-05953233 does not believe in anything, not luck nor chance, and especially not the Astrals it’s heard whispers of in awe, fear, and disgust. By some means, whatever the cause, they make it down to the loading docks.

Almost.

Entry into the airships requires a barcode scan, numeral recognition certain to reveal NH-05953233’s whereabouts. It does not know how they will smuggle aboard if--

“Ah, these dropships will do beautifully. A shame for such a once grand kingdom to burn, but ah, the lessons they’ll finally learn.” A man’s voice drawls from somewhere too close for comfort and NH-05953233 dives for the nearest shadows, Human Test Subject #23 painfully burying her face into the sharp metal of its armor. “They are to take off shortly, are they not?”

“Yes, Chancellor, but as I was telling you, it isn’t safe to be wandering by yourself when we’re under lockdown. You must have an escort accompanying you at this time.”

“Dear officer, do you think myself incapable of handling one of your little toys?”

“N-No, of course not, Ch-Chancellor. I just-”

NH-05953233 doesn’t dare risk achieving a better visual of the pair, focusing more at the task of keeping Human Test Subject #23 quiet. Her breathing is irregular, on a dangerous verge like when MTs are ordered to kill for the first time, and NH-05953233 feels-

It does not feel anything. MTs feel nothing. The freezing, thumping sensation in its cardiac region, however, eases considerably at the sound of steps, sign of them taking their leave-

_Beep_.

“What was-”

“Call it curiosity, officer. Now then, I do believe I’m through here. Come along and escort me to his Majesty since you’ve declared yourself to be so concerned of my safety. I have been waiting too long for this moment, and I shan’t wish to miss a thing.”

“Er, yes, sir.”

They’re gone. NH-05953233 waits a full minute to be sure, listening to one of them humming as they walk until silent with acceptable distance.

The airship is left open, and so they board, tucked away in a closet space where none will think to find them. MTs belong in storage pods, and all are occupied.

* * *

Insomnia is burning.

NH-05953233 observes the capitol from where they’ve landed at the outskirts in the cover of night, vessel now void of the MTs that’ve already disembarked to invade. The Empire is merciless, military might out in full force from what the rogue unit can pick up on.

Human Subject #23 will not be safe here. The enemy of the Empire has fallen, and nowhere will be safe. The child stares at the inferno of what was once a civilization, of the smoke choking out every navigating constellation in the sky and the many dropships that hover like death omens. She’s crying, shaking, and NH-05953233 wonders if her weak human hearing can pick up every dying shriek and machine gun firing like it can, great city overrun by chaos and destruction. NH-05953233 knows firsthand of the deadly efficiency of the Empire, that there will be no survivors, not even the most powerful in the targeted populace. The mighty authority of the Empire is too strong, and all will yield to it.

Human Test Subject #23 will not be safe here. NH-05953233 feels tiny fingers wrap around its gauntlet, child’s gaze torn from the doomed kingdom to the rogue MT.

“ _Hero._ ” Her voice just barely whispers, and NH-05953233 feels the malfunction infiltrate its mind at the one word.

It knows what heroes are. MTs are not heroes. MTs are tools to serve, and nothing more.

But for Human Test Subject #23, maybe it can-

NH-05953233 looks away from those awed eyes that think it so. It does not understand. These are malfunctions.

**Malfunctions.**

_It does not understand_.

But oh, does it _want_ to.

It desires to keep Human Test Subject #23 safe, no matter what. NH-05953233 pulls her at its side, takes a quick marching pace away from everything it has ever known in the dead of the night until the girl can walk no further. NH-05953233 carries her when her hands grasp upwards at the empty air, carries her not much farther when it catches sight of the brightest light it has ever seen. Colors it has never witnessed chase away the black into dark, rich hues that burst into more, so much more as it illuminates all it touches in an ethereal glow.

_The sun_. But more than that, _so much more._ NH-05953233 wants to watch it forever, but even MTs have their limits. In the back of its mind, it knows it time to recharge, but there are no pods in which to store itself.

A cave will do, just big enough for NH-05953233 to step inside, and roomy enough for Human Test Subject #23 to be laid down to rest like it has seen all twenty-two do prior. The MT presses itself in the back corner, intends to stay online while recharging to keep sentry over the child.

It never recalls going offline.

Outside their shelter, a most intrigued man of no consequence observes the slumbering pair, smiling a little smile while humming a curious little tune.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece of happiness.

NH-05953233 does not know when it went from standing to sitting, only that it is jumping into immediate high alert at the sound of screaming, acquiring its gun on trained instinct. Human Test Subject #23 is the source, tossing and turning from where she lies on the cave floor. NH-05953233 does not know what to do and reaches for the child who screams again when her eyes open suddenly, yelping at the sight of it so close. Sobbing unintelligibly, she presses herself against the rocky wall, and NH-05953233 does not understand. Human Test Subject #23 is terrified of it. The rogue trooper is sure of this, there is no other nearby threat that it knows of, and those sky-colored eyes are solely focused on the MT.

“ _M-Monster_.” She whimpers with a cry, flinching when NH-05953233 takes a step closer.

It does not understand what has changed from last night, what could have occurred while it was offline to trigger a memory relapse of the child forgetting it is a ‘hero’ despite its designation of NH-05953233. Nothing it logically thinks of makes any sense. The MT sets its gun aside since there is no threat, and sits from where it stood. Human Test Subject #23 relaxes only slightly, and so it thinks of what more it should do to calm her, to inform her that she is safe. It is a monster, she repeats again, teary sight locked on its mask. It is not a monster. NH-05953233 is an MT unit. It knows what monsters are, what they look like. It had witnessed what the people in their white coats made monsters of, beasts of darkness that destroy all they touch and fear nothing. NH-05953233 never liked being ordered to go anywhere near there, never liked the commands to kill the monsters they’d grown bored of as a test. Always so many tests, everything a test. NH-05953233 passed them all. It is ‘a success’. It is not a monster. It is an MT that she is afraid of. They all look exactly the same, after all, cloned identities contained in identical armor. NH-05953233 removes its mask, thinking it will help her understand. Her cries cease immediately, red-rimmed eyes processing the sight before her in stunned silence.

NH-05953233 thinks she will never speak again, frets that she won’t ever and it is entirely at fault. Leaning forward with fragile fascination, Human Test Subject #23 crawls towards it on her hands and knees, closing the short distance between them. The MT does not understand the tilt of her head as she stares, lips twitching in different lines like when the scientists would scribble away on their clipboards in thought, eyes flickering at every facial aspect. A finger slowly, slowly reaches to poke its face, and the surprise is palpable on her features at how the skin pushes back at the probing touch to its cheek.

“ _Like me.”_ The child breathes, and it does not understand. NH-05953233 and Human Test Subject #23 are not alike. She is human, the MT is not. It cannot come up with any explanation when the curious finger is soon joined by another, tracing every dip and line, from nose to eyes to the brows above. A smile as delicate as the moment blossoms forth, followed by a short, strange noise that NH-05953233 is unfamiliar with as a hand stretches up to grasp what blond follicles stick out from beneath its helmet in need of a precise trim to strict regulation. Sitting up on her knees, she cards a hand in her own fair locks that’re but a few shades darker, leaning even farther forward to compare the differences. She’s smiling, more pleased than NH-05953233 has ever seen anyone to be, yet it vanishes somewhat when it does not look the same in turn.

“ _Happy, see?”_ She points at her own gap-toothed smile with a free hand before joining the other on its face, two fingers now burrowing themselves at the corners of its lips and gently tugging upwards in mimicry. “ _Happy thanks to hero.”_

NH-05953233 does not ‘see’, but Human Test Subject #23 is ‘happy’ at its attempts to keep its lips in that curve when she pulls her hands back. Happy _,_ NH-05953233 decides, is good. It always wants Human Test Subject #23 to be _happy_.

* * *

 

The beauty of seeing the sun with its own eyes lasts approximately eight seconds before NH-05953233 staggers back into the shaded shelter. Human Test Subject #23 follows once aware of the MT’s sudden disappearance from behind her. She’s not happy, eyebrows furrowed with tiny fingers tugging at its arms to pull its gauntlets from its face that still burns from the light’s unforgiving touch.

“ _Hero hurt?”_ The child asks with such concern, and NH-05953233 shakes its head.

MTs are disciplined to be unresponsive to pain. It feels nothing. It ignores all malfunctions of everything it should not be feeling, ignores the indefinable emotion of acknowledging that it cannot see the sun with its own eyes, to feel natural warmth upon its skin before the agonizing discomfort. How stupid for it to forget the purpose of the very armor it wears, correction enforced like all the others by pain that such foolish actions will not be done again. NH-05953233 puts its mask back on, Human Test Subject #23 letting out but a small whine. The MT snaps to attention, weapon armed and ready should the need arise to keep the girl safe. It nods, and she leaves the cave more slowly this time, worriedly watching as NH-05953233 marches into the light of day without incident this time. Everything seeming okay, she skips ahead as the MT inspects their surroundings previously unknown in night’s shadow.

NH-05953233 has never seen anything so...so...indescribable. There’s so much to process that it does not know where to begin, machine mind unable to comprehend all that the new environment contains--just what it can _see_ \--, legs malfunctioning as if they will give out at any second if the MT dares take but a step. It stands perfectly still for two hundred and forty-seven seconds before Human Test Subject #23 is pulling lightly at its hand, unable to recall when the girl had returned to its side. She’s pointing all around them, chattering words that NH-05953233 cannot compute fast enough for how it whips from one marvelous sight to the next.

Nothing is just black and white. Nothing is cold. Nothing is dead. Everything is _color_ and _warm_ and _alive._

There’s lights and darks of one that is nearly _everywhere_ , the color of earth it only caught frozen glimpses of beneath icy tundras of snow like buried treasure. It rises from the ground, both flat like platforms, and rising as if to touch the sky in jagged peaks but without the tips of white like snow-capped mountains. The color encompasses as far as NH-05953233 can see, and the sky so very blue with puffs of white instead of dull grey like at the facility’s spacious courtyards. It does not know the color, the objects, that sprout from the earth in clusters, some short and bushy, whereas others reach upwards and branch out as if waving to it, swaying by unknown means. Short, sparse blades coat around them, and its aware once again of Human Test Subject #23’s attempts of getting its divided attention.

NH-05953233 follows orders, a welcome familiarity when so very overwhelmed. MTs that are overexposed to data have malfunctions, repaired only by being wiped clean as a slate. It does not want to lose this, does not want to forget...

“ _Flowers, hero, flowers!”_ Human Test Subject #23 is making that strange noise again that brings warmth directly to its chest port, jump-stepping to a patch of green that holds more color within.

The ‘flowers’, NH-05953233 makes note of, are another thing that makes the girl ‘happy’, plopping down before the small bursts to smell one of them with a smile. It does not pick up the scent when she picks a ‘flower’ for it to presumably do the same, but the MT mimics the action despite the mask. She is happy, and that is the only objective that matters.

“ _For you._ ”

NH-05953233 does not understand. Nothing is for MTs, and certainly not anything meant for humans. All MTs are given orders, tests and upgrades, only possessions being weapons designed to kill. MTs want nothing else.

But oh, does it _want_ to keep this precious piece of color for itself.

“ _For hero._ ” Human Test Subject #23 tries again, and it follows the order to receive the ‘flower’.

Under the mask, NH-05953233 is...happy.

* * *

 

The sun slowly scales higher in the sky while Human Test Subject #23’s enjoys the flowers with MT standing guard, switching observations from watching her to keeping a trained eye out for any intruders. It thinks if they should stay in this area with the flowers that make her happy, but if she will be safe here. The overnight trek from this spot and Insomnia is not a safe enough distance from the Empire. The militaristic power will stop at nothing to conquer all in their path with a hunger for power that is never sated, and NH-05953233 will give everything to assure that Human Test Subject #23 will stay out of the Imperials’ reach. If such a place exists, the MT does not know, will not rest until one is found...

A low snarl disrupts its critical thinking process, girl scampering to get up and behind her hero before the trooper hones in on the approaching threat. An unrecognizable breed of lone beast is stalking towards them, great tongue drooling between sharp, glistening canines. NH-05953233 motions behind for the girl to stay back, momentarily pleased when she obeys and makes for the safety of the cave. It is not pleased when the feral creature’s interest remains on Human Test Subject #23, massive claws digging into the earth as it lunges forward with a chilling howl. NH-05953233 is what stands between child and monster. The gunner takes aim and fires fifteen rapid shots before it goes down, writhing and fighting for every breath until it goes still. Satisfied, the victorious MT turns on its heels to where the girl warily peeks out from the cave’s mouth and upon seeing her hero safe, a fragile smile graces her lips. It vanishes in a flash, eyes widening in horror, and it does not make out what she shrieks.

The next NH-05953233 registers is sharp pain latching to its back, followed quickly by a heavy weight forcing it on to its knees as it twists to view the new attacker. It’s the same beast as the one that lies a bullet-riddled corpse nearby, and twice as vicious with maw snapping away at whatever armor it can find purchase of, great talons near-piercing through. NH-05953233 shoves with all the modified enhancements it possess against vile beast that’s nothing more than ashen skin, protruding bone, and carnivorous teeth. It draws the strength to succeed in knowing that by slaying the monster will Human Test Subject #23 safe. Weak point discovered, the MT wraps an arm around the creature’s neck, task made easy by its furious intentions to chomp down on the limb. A sharp twist is all it takes from there, snap of spine rendering it limp in NH-05953233’s hold before releasing.

The rogue trooper has sustained damage from the mauling, armor scraped and torn, yet ignores the nonexistent pain as it stands with a stumble that cannot be. Gun in hand, it scans the area for any more threats, and takes note of how quiet it is. Human Test Subject #23 has ceased screaming, and it cannot recall when. With a slight limp, NH-05953233 hobbles into the cave, listening for any sign of her as it looks around, sinking sensation overwhelming though it is not physically falling. There’s a faint, stifled sniffle, and the sinking becomes soaring, dizzy with relief as it spies her curled up in the corner like an impossibly tiny ball. At the sounds of its footfalls does she peer up, hiccuping with tears streaming down cheeks.

NH-05953233 protected her. It does not understand why she is not happy with its performance. Thinking of what it should do, it removes its mask in the safety of the dark that yields no reaction like the previous time. The child just continues to cry, and so it retrieves the flower she had gifted it in hopes of making her happy. It would gladly give it up if it will--

Human Test Subject #23 rises to her feet without warning, tripping over them in her haste as she tumbles forward with arms embracing her hero’s waist. NH-05953233 does not understand the action any more than the first time in the Experimental Department, mimicking the hold in hopes of comprehending with uncertainty as it bends forward to loop the limbs around her shoulders. The purpose is still unknown, but it has no orders to stop as the child squeezes tighter and just sobs until she has nothing left during the nine minutes and fifty-three seconds. When she pulls back, she’s smiling and while NH-05953233 still does not understand, it mirrors the smile like earlier. She beams up at it even brighter, happy little noise bubbling forth.

They cannot stay here with the possibility of even more beasts like that. She will not be safe. They must continue on, until it has found a place free of the Empire and the monsters that lurk. Mask equipped, NH-05953233 offers its hand that the girl obediently takes, and clutches the flower in the other.

It will not fail. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life and death.

 

There’s more than feral grey beasts roaming the arid landscape. NH-05953233 does not know any of the creatures of various sizes, shapes, and colors that travel in packs or by their lonesome. Most are like the violent monsters of earlier, snarling with hostility when in their sight and charging forth until the MT is given no choice but to exterminate, Human Test Subject #23 coming out of hiding once the threat is no more.

Hand in hand, they continue on.

A few creatures--stomachs white and skin the color of light earth--are docile, posing no threat while grazing without care to the odd pair. The girl is pleased, letting go of her hero to pick a handful of long blades off the ground before offering the bundle to the smallest of the herd. The tiny long-necked beast accepts, and the child lets out that strange noise while squirming that it ‘tickles’ with a smile that she’s happy, at least. She gathers even more, pressing the collection into NH-05953233’s hand with the gentle order to try ‘feeding’ one the ‘grass’. The MT is sure its copying her correctly, motion by motion, but the animal just stares. None of the others pay it any notice even as it marches towards them in offering just like Human Test Subject #23, hard hooves pawing at the ground with a snort before turning away to ‘feed’ elsewhere nearby. NH-05953233 does not understand. The girl’s tongue sticks out, hands on her hips at the rude behavior.

 _“Meanies.”_ The child declares, and the MT adds that information to its database. Determined, she guides the MT to the tiny meanie, letting out the noise again when she's happy and again does it bring static to NH’s ports as the little animal feeds on the grass held between their hands.

NH-05953233 is...happy. It's learned things it never would. These creatures are called ‘meanies’. They ‘feed’ on the ‘grass’. It wonders how many exist, and if the grass has any nutritional value like the injections it receives to remain functional. This place is farther from where they were; Human Test Subject #23 seeming happy despite the lack of flowers. If they stay, NH-05953233 hopes the meanies will allow it to feed them without the girl helping. It would like that very much. The largest of the beasts with great twisting horns unleashes a growl of a noise with hooves waving in the air as it stands on hind legs. This meanie must be the superior of the herd, orders issued that the rogue unit does not understand as they regroup. It understands soon enough, a low humming sound droning in the distance that’s revealed as NH-05953233 scans the horizon.

 _Enemy dropship_.

Human Test Subject #23 stares at the airship as it zooms into her view, crying out as her hero grips her hand tightly, tearing her vision away as she trips in turning. The engine noise grows louder, bay door hissing open, and the child whimpers as she looks back to monsters diving out of the sky. NH-05953233 can hear the numbers of troops filling its reception ports, of the girl stumbling to keep up with its racing pace, fingers gripping with all her strength. The MT scoops Human Test Subject #23 into its arms, driven by the objective that must get her away, away, away.

It does not stop running for a long time, ignoring the pain in its damaged leg.

* * *

 

The land is different as the sun sinks back down towards earth behind them, colors vivid and bright as the rest the sky becomes dark with tiny specks of lights. NH-05953233 does not know what to call it, but decides ‘pretty’ will suffice from what the girl breathes at the sight as she safely walks alongside her hero, hand still tightly clutched. She stumbles quite often, night vision not as advanced as the MT’s. Worry at the back of its mind wonders if there is more to it than that, if the girl could be malfunctioning as humans do. The child is weak and small without the modifications and enhancements that NH-05953233 has. The scientists were right, as it does not believe she would have survived even the first injection. Human Test Subject #23 gives in, doing that arm raising thing she always does when quietly ordering to be picked up, and her hero obeys.

It keeps walking.

There’s many more lights when the sun is nearly gone, not just the many, many ‘pretty’ ones in the sky. Very few are moving at fast speeds, white that changes into red as they zoom along in a hurry--why they are, NH-05953233 does not know. Some flicker in colors like the setting sun, shadowy figures moving about over the glow of soft blue. The rogue MT does not know who they could be, if the Empire has invaded this far, and will not risk anything that could compromise the girl’s safety. The airship from earlier proved as such.

NH-05953233 should have known better that _they’d_ be out here, too. The monsters from the labs, the source of the blood that courses through its very wiring. It knows the crackling sounds that pop all around them, the moans and groans of twisted darkness given form in that of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. Giants made of iron and armed with massive swords, putrid masses of gelatin flesh, skeletons of the fallen, and those that float along with an unsettling smile taking much their face. Human Test Subject #23 cowers in its arms at every creak and hiss of the true monsters that wander aimlessly, yet take interest of the mortal in their midst.

NH-05953233 holds her closer as if clutching the child to its armor will hide her away from its daemon kin as it limps by. She squirms, pressing tiny hands to her nose and mouth, but her hero can still hear her cry, feel her shake all the more. The daemons have lost interest, and it doesn’t feel like they’re out of the range soon enough before they reach a clearing. It’s a slab of rock surrounded by thick brush, a place to recharge that can be easily defended until night has passed and the girl safe from shadows. She mutely protests when NH-05953233 attempts to put her down to rest, refusing to let go to be laid on the ground. It does not know what to do. It presses itself against the sturdy stone, adjusting to aim its gun straight ahead as a warning for any monster that dares to approach while it sits sentry with child burrowed into its side.

There is a tiny rumble from what must be the girl, but her eyes are closed from what it shifts to see. Perhaps she is malfunctioning. It does not know what to do, what course of action it should take to fix her. NH-05953233 thinks and thinks, and does not come up with a conclusion before it goes offline.

* * *

 

Human Test Subject #23 is shrieking.

NH-05953233 is online immediately, and does not feel her presence at its side. The MT leaps into action at hearing her cries, but unable to pinpoint her location amongst the cackling of the trickster goblins. She’s crying, she’s in pain, and it cannot _find_ her. NH-05953233 takes aim at the swarms that don’t suspect their blood brother to turn against them, and fires. At sight of the first monster dissolving into nothingness, they fall into a rage, screeching and clawing at the gunner en masse, drawn by the firing gun. It swings with fists to shake them off, kicking away those that latch onto its legs, and listens to the child that screams its name in the darkness.

It must find Human Test Subject #23. It must--

 _Silence_.

All it sees is a trail of red.

* * *

 

The girl hears the gunshots over the monster that clutches her ankle, sharp nails digging in like needles as it drags her away in the dark. She screams, flails, and it only makes the pain that much worse, claws burying in fragile, bleeding flesh.

Shouting.

Light.

Hissing.

The source of the pain goes away. On instinct, the girl scrambles to her feet and yelps as she falls, but keeps stumbling until she hits something solid. Stone. She curls up small, hurting all over, and prays to whoever will listen that the monsters won’t find her as she hides. Her hero will like he always does, and everything will be okay. The shouting starts up again, light sweeping over the area as she tries to suppress a sniffle. Something thrashes about that she cannot see, and she cries aloud without meaning, trembling in terror. The voice stops calling out so loudly, light easily detecting her whereabouts from the outburst.

It’s a person, flashlight in one hand that blinds her before pointing away from her face, illuminating her small, shivering form. A blade dripping with black blood is clenched in the other. She whimpers, cowers back when the man takes a step towards her, showing something that hangs around their neck that shines in the light. He’s speaking softly, urgently as he looks around, setting his weapon aside as he kneels before her. The man doesn’t make any more advancements, temporarily setting the flashlight on the ground to keep her in view. The child’s too scared to make out what he asks, eyes locked on the backpack he shrugs off his shoulder. He rifles through it quickly by aid of light, frowning at what little contents remain inside, and retrieves a wrapped bar before exchanging it for a vial of liquid at glance of her injuries. Extending his arm, he offers the small, strange bottle with a kind smile, but all she does is weep and shrink further back. His words are gentle still, coaxing despite the edge of urgency.

Despero cries out for her hero.

He comes.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 sees her. Sees the threat before her, holding out something it recognizes being used by the scientists. The MT looms ever closer, creeps stealthily by with eyes glowing red. Human Test Subject #23 cries out for it to save her, and it breaks the element of surprise when its injured leg buckles in misstep. The threat hears the noise, head whipping around to see the rogue trooper towering over but few precious feet away and they swear aloud. NH-05953233 watches as their free hand reaches for the blade, knocked off balance by the child suddenly barreling into them with a shrill plea. They lunge for the weapon again after pushing her aside to safety, but the MT is much faster. The next it knows is that the threat is neutralized with a wet, choking noise, crumpling aside with convulsing hands grasping at the sword through their chest. Human Test Subject #23 watches with horror, crimson splashed across her dirtied face, and doesn’t move for a long time even after the threat goes so very still. NH-05953233 approaches her, initiates contact first by wrapping its arms around the tremoring frame. It thinks it is understanding the purpose of the action more as she unleashes a wail, clutching desperately in return.

“ _Ar-Are they dead? All the monsters?”_ Her voice trembles more than it ever has, and her hero nods. “ _Wa-Was he a-a monster, t-too?”_

NH-05953233 does not know. It assumes so, hair as black as daemon blood, yet uncertain with blade stained in red and dark garments exposing pale muscled flesh. There is no barcode branded on their limp wrist, nor on the other when it checks beneath gloves. The MT spies a metal object glistening when Human Test Subject #23 takes the flashlight to hold, aiding in its inspection of the eliminated threat. Much of the flat piece of metal is imprinted with lettering in a sort of code that NH-05953233 cannot decipher, partially caked with dirt and blood. The threat was a ‘Type AB’, manufactured year ‘733’, and designation of ‘Aequum,’--

_Hrrk!_

Human Test Subject #23 is on her bloody hands and knees, head bowed to the earth as she vomits up nothing but spit. NH-05953233 ceases its investigation of the corpse, uncertain of how to fix the obvious malfunctioning as she gags, wrapping thin arms around her middle. It finds the bag the threat had been carrying, opens it for anything that will make her function properly again. There’s items it recognizes from dispensing machines, a kit of sorts, a bottles of liquid, a short knife, and surprisingly some flowers. NH-05953233 does not know what will provide the help she needs. It does not know what it should do, but Human Test Subject #23 could be _dying_ , and it cannot do _nothing._ The hero has no other purpose without her.

“ _Wa-Wan’ go ‘ome.”_ She sobs between coughs, quivering as she touches at lacerated legs in need of repair. It shuffles over to her, carefully laying out the contents in hopes that the child will know what it is she will need. “ _Ban-Band-aids?”_

It does not know what ‘band-aids’ are as she points at the small box it has seen located in the laboratories, but it nods anyway, trusting her judgement. There are many more things inside, objects reserved only for humans even as she tries to push some towards her hero. She is not pleased, but it knows she will need them more even as she tries again that it is ‘hurt, too’. MTs do not get hurt. MTs do not get human things, even if they are malfunctioning, defective rogue units. The child has top priority. It is not human like her. It does not know why she keeps acting like it. She takes out a rolled-up stretch of cloth and insistently hands it over to the trooper, shaking her head as it means to push it back until she gestures to her own injuries with the flashlight.

_Oh._

“ _Dunno h-how._ ” Her bottom lip quivers, and NH-05953233 understands the order.

It executes to the best of its ability, wrapping the gauze around the sheening cuts and binding it across calloused feet worn down by the trek. Human Test Subject #23 whimpers throughout, wincing and shifting making it difficult to proceed as she tries to keep quiet. She thanks it again, and it is pleased beneath the mask. It wonders if the warm static it feels is connected.

Human Test Subject #23 is no longer malfunctioning. NH-05953233 repaired her, though she looks troubled as she then looks over the rest of the items. It watches as she touches the flowers unlike the one it has stored away, gathering them in her hands before crawling over to place them on the slain threat. The girl says something that the MT does not catch as it puts the things away, determining they may be useful and slings the strap next to its gun. This place is not safe either, and so they must keep moving. NH-05953233 reaches for her hand, both performing poorly at standing. It straightens up, ignoring its own malfunctions as it lifts her up. Her hero hears the grumble again as she loops both arms around its neck, chin resting on shoulder. Human Test Subject #23 whispers thanks over and over again before going silent with sleep. NH-05953233 holds her closer, and limps away until the sun greets the sky once more. It finds a place that has much of the ‘grass’, feet squishing underneath liquid before entering the dryness of a cramped cave. Her hero does not set her down this time as it presses in as far as it can go inside, arming itself with its rifle.

NH-05953233 does not go offline.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain.

Human Test Subject #23 is malfunctioning again, but NH-05953233 knows what to do this time. It takes off its mask before her eyes even snap open, shining with tears as she sobs between hiccuping gasps of the ‘monsters’. The girl touches its exposed face, breathing becoming more regular as she pokes and prods as if to confirm something. NH-05953233 still doesn’t understand the purpose, her hands holding a trembling gentleness unlike the scientists with their needles of painful precision. She’s happy, smiling at last, and NH-05953233 finds it to be all that matters, mimicking the action without needing her fingers to direct its lips to the proper position.

The smile quickly goes away, however, at the growl resounding from Human Test Subject #23, releasing a whimper as she sits and grasps around her middle again. NH-05953233 does not want to calculate the probability of her malfunctioning again like hours ago, searching through the bag for the same object that fixed her in hopes it will be the same solution. It isn’t, child shaking her head at the ‘band-aid’ as she closes her eyes and tightens her arms with a definite start of a cry as the noise rumbles again much louder. The MT promptly dumps the rest the items out, echoing in the tiny space as the girl peers back up at her hero and the pile of possessions. She’s quick, snatching up one of the wrapped bars like those in the facilities’ dispensing machines, tearing into it to reveal a formation of solids.

Human Test Subject #23 opens her mouth, but hesitates before closing. She points the bar to NH-05953233 in offering, and it does not understand.

“ _Hero h_ _ungry?”_ The child sets the subsistence in one of its hands. _“Eat food?”_

‘Food’ is a human concept. MTs do not ‘eat food’. MTs do not ‘eat’ anything. They are injected with the daily dosings required to maintain a proper functioning level, which it has gone many without since defecting. Only MTs that have disobeyed orders are denied the injections, corrections learned that any and all failure will not be tolerated. NH-05953233 had always obeyed orders, had watched weakened troopers fall from weeks under restriction.

NH-05953233 has defied orders. It should not be allowed to ‘eat’.

If it does not, it will not be able to protect Human Test Subject #23.

This is ‘food’ for humans. It is not human.

Human Test Subject #23 _needs_ to ‘eat’. There will be less ‘food’ for her if it ‘eats’.

NH-05953233 shakes its head, gives the bar back to the girl who does not look pleased or happy at all. But she does eat, crams most the food in her mouth and chews with tears in her eyes. She eats a second, and nearly goes for the third before looking the stock over. There’s only two left, and the child has a strange look on her face as if thinking very hard like the scientists with their clipboards. Human Test Subject #23 takes a bottle of clear liquid instead, offering the vial to her hero. The MT shakes its head again, and she gulps most of it until suddenly stopping, screwing the cap back on.

“ _For. For later._ ”

NH-05953233 does not know what ‘later’ means, but the girl is no longer malfunctioning and that is all that matters.

* * *

 

The world during the daylight isn’t different outside their dry shelter. There is no sun, sky cloaked with heavy variations of grey that for a harrowing moment the MT thinks it’s been leading her back to the facilities all this time. That thought lasts for only seven seconds before the trooper feels the girl tug at its arm, child limping slightly yet eager to survey their surroundings with a pleased note at how the ground squishes between toes.

It could not be more different than its manufactured origins, and even more than the majority of the barren, cracked ground they’d been traversing all this time. The near-overwhelming overload of brand new information is still there, NH-05953233’s processes whirring as it helplessly staggers down the dip of earth with heavy steps despite feeling suspended in open air much like the wisps of clouds clustered about. There’s grass as far as the MT can see through the hovering mists--more than what it ever thought could exist--, and armies of tall stalks in varied dark shades of earth all the same yet in different, distinct shapes with bunches of what it hypothesizes to be grass that they hold at the ends of arm-like appendages. Maybe. Maybe there are meanies here that it can feed all by itself--

 _Noise_.

So much noise comes from the gatherings of grass. Chirps of shrillness and buzzes like static that isn’t quite static but uncertain of how to classify otherwise. Like chimes that would sometimes play in the laboratories, and that of creatures kept in cages that would call out in clicks of sharp pointy mouths. The MT stands still, well aware by now that going further will cause unwanted malfunctions that will disrupt this...whatever this is. It does not know, but wants to understand.

NH-05953233 closes its eyes, and just listens.

Human Test Subject #23’s hand slips out of its, but it does not move. It can hear where she is without seeing, whereabouts given away by splashing footfalls and happy sounds that blend in with the clicks, chirps, and chimes. It stays so very still, listening undisturbed for nine minutes and twenty-four seconds before a very light weight lands on its outstretched limb. The girl releases a soft gasp, approaching steps slow as if not there at all, and NH-05953233 opens its visual receptors.

A very small creature rests on its arm, tiny head tilting back and forth as it hops up and down the length of its damaged armor. The beast--body made up of various shades of earth--is making the sound of the many that continue all around, pointy mouth opening with a warble that NH-05953233 listens to. Does not move. Just stares. Listens.

Human Test Subject #23 falters on her fixed foot, falling face-first onto the ground with a yelp that startles it into movement. The little animal takes off with a flap of folded limbs, and NH-05953233 feels a pang in its ports of the loss, however brief their presence was, watching as they fly onto a high bundle of grass where even more of their kind resides. The MT shakes its head, ignores the malfunction. The girl has far more importance, marching forward to her aid.

 _“S-Sorry I scared the bird away.”_ The child whispers as she slowly stands with her hero’s help, now both a mess with how she’s covered wet earth that imprints upon dark metal.

At the facility, its state of disarray would have been corrected by way of the sanitation chambers, stripped bare and sprayed down until raw and armor buffered spotless. NH-05953233 hopes Human Test Subject #23 will not order it to be cleaned. It does not believe she will as she smiles despite the mess they’ve both become, stretching up to place a dirty hand right over its major chest port. The child adds lines beneath that it cannot read from the angle, followed by two dots and a curve. Her hero does not know the purpose. She’s only added further grime to its marred frame. It wonders if by mimicking will it become clear, leaning down to press the wetness onto its palm before settling it atop her head. The slop slides down from fair strands to unclean cheeks before dripping onto the ground, and for a moment NH-05953233 thinks it made a mistake as she doesn’t react, eyes and mouth both wide as if processing what it did. She squeals then, shaking her head resulting in it flying everywhere as she makes the happy tones.

 _“You’re a meanie._ ” Human Test Subject #23 gasps, using both her hands to try to clean herself only to wipe them on its armor in retaliation.

NH-05953233 does not understand. It is not a ‘meanie’. It knows what ‘meanies’ are now. It is an MT unit. It is not a monster-looking beast with horns. It observes that she’s only getting dirtier by the second in attempts to get the liquid earth off, yet does not seem to mind, however, giving up as she then wraps her arms around the trooper.

_“But you’re still my hero.”_

* * *

 

There’s more buzzing noises as they walk further from the shelter, once relatively solid ground giving way to more of the liquid until there’s nothing but numerous circumferences, surfaces murky with oddly-shaped floating grass making calculating the depths indeterminable. Microscopic beings ripple across, round orbs of air occasionally rising with a ‘pop’ before a scaly creature leaps forth before splashing back down into the dark liquid. NH-05953233 stares should the event occur again, uncertain of what they are or their function. It immediately wonders if Human Test Subject #23 witnessed it, but the child is preoccupied by another matter, cautiously moving away with high steps that squelch beneath bare feet. She falls again, but with purpose, exclaiming happily even as she lays on her stomach in the filth.

NH-05953233 goes to help her stand, task made difficult with how she holds her arms so close that the MT fears she’s malfunctioning again. It must go get the remaining bars, the vial, the band-aids, perhaps everything--but should it leave her here? Risk carrying her? It does not know, it _does not know--_

_Ribbit!_

“ _Caught it!”_ The child looks up with a smile free of malfunctions, squirming much like the noisy animal she lifts for the MT to see. It nods, confirming that she did indeed capture it, and the smile grows bigger with her hero’s silent praise.

The strange being is not pleased, croaking aloud before slipping out of her grasp with ease. It hops along the liquid’s edge, jumping from wet earth to stone as Human Test Subject #23 fails to keep up. NH-05953233 determines it to have been beneficial to her happiness, and follows the order to ‘hurry and get it before it gets away’. It does not succeed, but the child is happy at their combined efforts, and that is all that matters.

They return to the shelter some time later, girl thoroughly worn out by the day’s events that her hero carries her the rest the way without being ordered to. Not once have they come across a monster, and this place appears to make her happy despite the lack of flowers thus far. Settling down, it sits against connection of walls with her resting on its lap, child clinging in sleep. It reaches to grab its gun without looking, puzzled when gauntlets find another possession instead.

NH-05953233 had never put the mask back on.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 comes back online to a peculiar disturbance that it cannot see, but hear. Human Test Subject #23 is awake, having left her spot on her hero while it was offline, sitting at the cave’s entrance. Liquid is falling from the sky in heavy droplets, not in flakes of quiet white like it would often observe in the courtyards, but the MT is entranced all the same as it’s drawn to the girl’s side. Moments pass, just watching and listening, before she stands with a smile, taking one of her hero’s hands in both of hers.

NH-05953233 should not go outside. It should put its mask on, still uncertain of why it was not corrected for the error of not wearing it earlier and scorched by burning light. The mask has always been necessary for protection, but the sun had not been visible then, and is not even now. If not required in this place, it...it does not want to...anymore...

_“C’mon!”_

NH-05953233 obeys the order.

Everything is wet, sky fluid pouring down atop its helmet. It feels it on its face when looking up at the grey atmosphere with its own eyes and doused with cool gentle pellets nothing at all like the sanitation chambers’ hoses. Human Test Subject #23 raises their hands together, letting go to scrub at the earth dried in her hair, seeming to enjoy getting clean as much as she had getting disorderly in the first place as she sticks out her tongue to collect the falling droplets.

NH-05953233 no longer wears its mask. It wonders. Wonders if it can remove its helmet without correction, either.

It can.

Nothing hurts. It doesn’t know how to describe the lack of pain when expecting severe repercussions. A lot of ‘happy’. Pleased. Both of those. More than those. It does not know what could be more than that, but it knows that is what it is. MTs are programmed to not be feeling anything, but it does. Oh, it does.

NH-05953233 _feels_. Feels the fluid droplets course down upon its head, free of restrictions, feels its hair getting damp from moisture, feels it plaster against its skin, wet and chilly to the sprinkling touch. It feels for a long time, standing and staring up into the heavens, opening its mouth to stick out its tongue like the girl had, and feels so much more as it tastes the liquid on its own. The unit closes its eyes, wants to bask in this moment forever. Wants to feel this feeling it should not be feeling forever. Human Test Subject #23 is splashing and spinning around, and it...it wants her to stay here, too. This place where it can hear, and see, and feel _human--_

Neither hears the Imperial dropship until it is too late.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the road.

 

The first bullet pierces clean through NH-05953233’s right shoulder plate from two o’clock.

The second shell embeds itself somewhere perilously close to its primary circuitry region at one.

The third fires just over its exposed head, MT ducking down just in time to slam its helmet on Human Test Subject #23 as it shields her tiny body from the relentless barrage that can only be from fellow sharpshooting units. The girl has gone from being so happy in the falling wetness to cowering close to the ground, wailing aloud with trembling palms easily slipping in the helmet’s space to press against her ears. NH-05953233 has to haul her up into its arms for how she cannot stand, screaming with sobs as her hero staggers too far forward at a shot penetrating its right patella joint, immediately followed by another just centimeters below. The MT catches itself with its functioning leg, ignoring the alerts of the other as it keeps moving for the shelter with rapid-fire mini missiles exploding at heels and striking all in its path.

There is no retreating from this ambush. Human Test Subject #23 will not survive the Empire’s onslaught. Her hero does not know if their mission is to capture her alive, but it is certain that they will ruthlessly strip away all which makes her human if that is their primary objective, returned to scientists that’ll eradicate everything until there’s nothing but the unfeeling husk of a daemon. A monster like those she fears. A soulless machine just like it, _if_ she even clings to life through the lethal doses that’ve neutralized the twenty-two before her.

The girl will die.

She will die if their orders are to eliminate both targets. She will inevitably die if she is captured. She will die if NH-05953233 lets them.

Her hero will never.

Human Test Subject #23 refuses to leave the rogue unit’s hold even as it firmly sets her down as far as the shelter goes, precious seconds filled with resolute purpose as it reaches for its rifle. The trooper hesitates, allows the malfunction to briefly take over at the unexplainable urge to embrace the girl. It doesn’t last long enough, debating whether it should leave its helmet to protect her when it can no longer. It wonders if she even understands what NH-05953233 is willing to sacrifice at increasing her percentage of survival from nothing to something. The MT pivots to the exit, hearing the all-too-familiar march of a squadron more prominent in wet terrain, proceeding only a step before Human Test Subject #23 lets out a cry, tripping over to embrace its arm.

“ _D-Don’t leave me._ ” The girl desperately begs, taking her hero back to that very same moment in the Experimental Department. _“Please.”_

But now that is an order that NH-05953233 cannot obey. This is what it has been programmed for. The MT is a tool of destruction manufactured by the Empire. It is meant to serve human troops, expendable with the intention to die in their place. Its sole purpose is to serve the-the-Em-

 _Human Test Subject #23_.

Even if it means disobedience in order to complete the objective that feels so much more than one, even as its chest ports ache with malfunction like they never have before as it peels her limbs off. NH-05953233 has had no greater purpose than to keep her safe, but the happiness comes at the cost of further pain that bleeds from its core. Her hero pats the helmet still on her head, pushing her back even as she persistently pleas to not go. The MT only shakes it head with a smile that makes her more upset, crying and shaking her own head as it uses two fingers to position her lips into the trembling curve that doesn’t stay in place when retracted.

“ _Please._ ” Human Test Subject #23 doesn’t try to latch on again when NH-05953233 turns away.

The mechanical soldier briefly thinks if it should hand her the flower it still has, if that will make her happy for the final time, but chooses not to as it prepares to step out into a battle that cannot be won without sacrifice.

NH-05953233 wants to have a piece of her close until the end.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 dives for cover behind one of the tall stalks that holds clusters of grass, gnarled surface laden with bullets that have yet to cease. It listens carefully, honing in on the approaching march of troopers from the falling sky fluid that has increased in frequency. Though the clouds have fallen closer to the earth’s surface, the MT can still pinpoint their location of glowing eyes and laser sights. It counts a squad of seven before forced to recoil behind the sturdy object, surrendering the lone post for a thicker grove.

It returns fire when able, each round of ammunition sacred and not to be wasted when it knows there is a possibility of missing vitals and barely bests an Imperial Sniper. There are approximately twelve remaining in the cartridge, and while NH-05953233 is versed in physical combat, it does not want to gamble the odds of finishing fully functional units by hand before they reach Human Test Subject #23. In order for it to successfully eliminate the Imperial threats, the MT must get closer, better to gain ground than to lose it even though it means moving away from where the girl safely remains.

NH-05953233 takes down another before sustaining significant damage to its left side, enduring the immense pain for thirteen seconds until shutting down.

* * *

 

Despero _must_ do something.

What, the child doesn’t know. Her hero had left no matter how hard she tried to make him stay despite being aware that the monsters would get them regardless if he hadn’t. The armored knight had gone out to fight them, to protect her as always, and the unspoken finality of it all left her too weak to convince the unshaken resolve. He’s out there amidst the firefight that explodes just outside the sanctuary of stone, fighting alone when already so injured all for _her_.

She can’t just...just...

The girl doesn’t know what else to do besides huddle against the back wall and weep aloud while waiting for her hero to victoriously return like he always does. She fears over him getting so hurt that he can’t come back, or the monsters taking him away like they tried to do to her.

Despero is small, weak, fragile. She’s learned time and time again she cannot stand up to monsters, but for her hero that’s faced them so bravely to protect her she _will_. Though she feels ill at the resolution, the child looks through the backpack for the knife and holds it carefully before slinging the heavy bag across her skinny shoulder like her hero does and tugs his two-sizes-too-big helmet more protectively over her head of disheveled hazel.

Her hero _needs_ a hero, too.

She’s immediately drenched once outside, near sliding down from transition of dry rock to slick mud, but catches herself with an unsteady wobble, undeterred on her mission to save him. It’s impossible to see very far for all the fog and pellets of rain mixing with shots firing, and her bottom lip quivers if she can do this after all as she attempts to sneak from tree to tree.

The child’s so self-absorbed in being quiet in the scary setting and driven by her goal that she doesn’t notice the downed monster until she trips over one of their limbs, falling with a cry into a nearby puddle.

“ _He-Hero?_ ” Despero immediately turns over to the armored being, trembling lip about to give way to hardly withheld tears.

The monster isn’t him. She wears his helmet, unlike this one. The relief lasts only briefly with bullets still flying in the air, signs that her hero is still out there, still fighting. Squeezing her fingers around the hilt, Despero limps on.

She’ll keep fighting, too.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 must keep fighting.

The wounded warrior powers back online after an indeterminate point of time, lagging in rising from where it had collapsed. It reloads into poor alertness, recalling its last known data of five surviving units that remain unscathed and armed with weapons designed for destruction. NH-05953233’s reaches for its own gun, pulling itself up by support of a tall stalk it heavily leans against. It is malfunctioning, performance in need of so many corrections that its mind sputters and spins at attempts to restore itself to proper operating status.

The squad’s pace is a steady crawl forward that will place them close to the maimed sharpshooter, unchallenged in their pursuit of Human Test Subject #23.

NH-05953233 must keep fighting, staggering to stand as it lines up a shot with finger locked around the trigger.

For Human Test Subject #23, it must-

NH-05953233 goes offline.

* * *

 

Despero finds another slain monster with a slug in its head, and while it’s not her hero, still makes her sick to the stomach at the sight. Placing a free hand over her mouth, the child suppresses the urge to gag, feeling no better for it as anxiety only grows the longer she’s separated from her hero by the unknown.

The sounds of a skirmish are still ongoing, but less from before as far as she can tell for all the rain. Whether that is a good or bad thing, Despero doesn’t want to think of the latter, that her hero could...could...

She presses the hand further to stifle the sobs as if anyone could hear her.

The young girl wants to break down and cry. Wants to runaway and hide in wait for her hero to find her. She should do that. She shouldn’t have left the shelter that she’s sure she can’t find on her own with how panicked and suddenly so cold and alone she feels. Frightened and lost.

Oh, how she _wants_ to give in to the instinct of hiding and crying, but her hero _needs_ her. Despero is sure of it. He wouldn’t give up on her. She can’t give up on him.

She can do this.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 can do this.

It’s the only option remaining, coming back online to detect the Empire’s finest just within range. The MT is pleased from where it is slumped against the stalk’s contorted surface, lying down without the capacity to stand any longer or even to tightly grasp its rifle to shoot. There is no time to hesitate in the action reserved only for a last resort, and it does not with the girl’s life on the line.

NH-05953233 reaches with a tremoring yet determined gauntlet to its chest port, faltering for not even a moment as it retrieves its flower and core. The paling color of the once beautiful flower wilts in comparison to the power source of its very being, yet both bringing warmth when held so preciously. This power cell is the malfunctioning cause of all those sensations of static it would feel when the child would hold its hand. Praise it for obeying orders. Smile when happy. Embrace it. Treat it as if it were...were more than a machine.

Human.

The soulless MT remembers the scientists calling this important object its “heart”, of what drives it to carry out orders, but NH-05953233 thinks of Human Test Subject #23 as its heart. This small, warm, delicate thing in its hand is like the girl.

The self-destruct sequence initiates at the press of the button.

NH-05953233 closes its eyes, clutches both tightly as it thinks of how happy Human Test Subject #23 will be of its performance of keeping her safe.

It is happy to have known her, however brief their time together was.

* * *

 

The sudden explosion from yards away nearly knocks Despero off muddied bare feet, deafening blast of noise bursting through her very being. Her bearings are lost, minutes of sheer confused despair ringing in her ears as she cannot even hear herself cry. She blindly takes off running before the buzzing fades, slipping and sliding in unexplainable haste.

Dread holds her hammering heart hostage, runs wild with it as she keeps tumbling into muddy puddles that trap her meager weight down before pulling herself back up. Thick brush snares at vulnerable limbs, tripping Despero up further as she yanks herself free.

Her hero needs her. He needs her. Needs her. _Her_.

He won’t have to leave her anymore if she can just _save him._

Despero keeps moving.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 doesn’t move.

It doesn’t move when the child comes barreling out of the woods, exhausted on unsteady feet yet determined.

It doesn’t move at the shrill screaming of its designation with all the air her small lungs contain, winded by all the sprinting to locate her hero.

It doesn’t move to the young girl dropping multiple times in stumbling forward with barely having the strength on adrenaline's fumes to rise each time.

It doesn’t move when she crawls towards it, tears spilling down eyes the color of the bright blue sky and whimpering ‘hero’.

It doesn’t move at distressed fingers jabbing cold, still cheeks for the reaction that never comes.

It doesn’t move when she tosses the helmet aside to listen for a nonexistent heartbeat over the gaping crater in its chest.

It doesn’t move when she wails to the heavens until her raw voice gives out, dissolving into inarticulate pleas and sobs as she squeezes her arms to embrace its broken, listless form.

NH-05953233 never moves.

“What a pity. They just don’t make toys like they used to, hm? Still, I was rather entertained by the performance while it lasted. Bravo.”

Despero gasps as if shocked, releasing her fallen hero at the slowly clapping newcomer strolling from seemingly nowhere with a twisted smirk like he’s been watching all along. She doesn’t know this man of rare red hair and layers upon layers of clothing, but finds she doesn’t care for all the anguish that overtakes all emotion. An inhuman cry rips through her, raw intensity so powerful that she’s standing before she knows it, screeching with abandon as the knife plunges into the strange man’s stomach by her own hand. He doesn’t move, instead chuckling as though amused at the brat so worked up over the fascinating piece of junk. Impressed, even, smiling a dark smile.

“I’m afraid you’ll find me much harder to kill than those pathetic whelps.” He drawls so casually like talking down to a foolish child and dismissive at that truth. “Don’t you know what a true monster looks like? It’s quite a sight.”

The man tips his hat with a sweep of a bow, face contorting in the flash of movement. Tanned flesh pales to ashen grey, tears of daemon blood streaming from gold irises stark against the void of black. He laughs again at her reaction of falling on her rear with a shaky choke on air, plucking the Hunter’s knife with false interest as though no more than a troublesome splinter as he tosses it at her feet.

“It’d be wise to hold onto this, my dear.”

Despero whimpers, paralyzed by more fear than she’s ever felt in her short life and yet unable to avert her gaze at the true monster of a man who just shakes his head.

“I do believe I hear more toys on the way and we wouldn’t want to get caught, now would we?”

Scampering back to her hero’s side, Despero tugs at an arm with desperate pleas that go unheard. She tries the other, begging much louder and frantically yanking with all the strength she has to no avail.

NH-05953233 doesn’t so much as budge, and the drone of the approaching airship only grows louder. She can’t leave him behind. She can’t. Despero _won’t_ , weeping in frustration to the creeping despair that she just might have to.

“Are you going to let your precious hero’s sacrifice be in vain?”

Of course she won’t, but...but...

The dropship hovers in place, monstrous stranger idly commenting that she’d best runaway while she has the chance. Despero only clings tighter, butting her head beneath her hero’s chin in a final hug. Biting her lip, she tries to put on a brave face that wavers before crumbling with cries, embracing the stationary soldier once more.

It’s not _fair._

“ _You’ll always be my hero.”_ She whispers, heart aching as she parts for the last time.  _"Always_."

Niflheim’s Chancellor observes as the child takes the knife, glancing up as the ship’s door hisses open. With one last look at her fallen hero, Despero takes off running, a stumbling gait to get far away like he would want for her. The man of no consequence takes notice of the helmet left behind, smiling his little smile and humming a curious little tune while dusting it off with the back of a gloved hand before settling atop the decimated MT.

“I simply must request an encore.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chocobros *finally* make an appearance.

 

Despero keeps backtracking every single step that takes her further away from her heroic knight in ruptured armor, only getting more lost in the maze of a wood. She had sprinted with sobs at first, staggering blindly in thickets of shallow swamps, now walking and wiping endless tears away with the trembling back of a hand before hugging back around heaving torso. Though armed with knife and survival backpack, the girl feels as if she’d left her heart behind as her back-and-forth pace crashes to a halt by a root that hooks underfoot. She falls hard, knees taking the brunt of the damage as teeth imprint her bottom lip upon impact, filling her mouth with the copper tang.  

Despero tries not to cry, pushing herself up on scraped palms that barely provide support, dropping her forehead against mud as fingers dig into wet dirt. She _tries_ , even giving up her attempts at standing back up just to _not cry_. The young girl wails for her hero, but he never comes. Instead, she’s responded with yowls of monsters that echo all around her, stuttering breaths in competition with rapid heartbeats as fizzling adrenaline pumps into weary veins.

Hardly able to even stand, the child whimpers at the sight of crimson mixing with earth before biting on cut lip to keep herself quiet. Silent tears track down grimy cheeks while sniffles are subdued behind an equally messy palm. Despero limps from tree to tree, catching herself on jagged bark that does more harm than good with each tight grip before collapsing on weak knees. The snarling growls continue even as she trips away, stomach too twisted in knots to be that of hunger.

Twigs snap from behind.

Despero tries to run, ignoring the pain that even then brings her to bloody knees. She hobbles when stumbling back to her feet, sounds of sheer anguish and despair escaping between sharp gulp of air.

Her hero. She wants her hero. She _needs_ him.

But he never comes.

A strange metallic structure rests at the side of a wide dirt path, decayed and covered in rust. Run down and broken. She thinks of her hero, having to lay completely flat to barely fit underneath the contraption of aged pipes and exposed wiring. It catches on the bag and she tugs with shoulders before yanked backwards by an unseeable force that roars so close to her ears that sends jolts down her spine. Despero shrieks, sacrificing the sack of supplies as she frees herself of the strap and wiggles her way further beneath.

Monsters of pale yellow limbs tear it to shreds, hissing and quarreling as she cowers in fear, hands plastering to trembling lips to withhold screams at the very same claws that lunge blindly for the child. They stay there, impatiently pacing around for the girl to crawl out and flee.

Despero never does.

The land grows dark, and the monsters of day transition into those more terrifying. She can hear them creeping and crawling in shadows, squeezing her eyes shut although unviewable from where she hides. Though trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight, sleep still takes claim.

She dreams of her hero, of being safe and sound with him. She dreams of picking flowers, of feeding those long-necked animals, of dancing in the rain. She dreams of him smiling, of everything being okay.

Despero wakes with nothing but a numb emptiness.

* * *

 

The girl doesn’t know how long she stays beneath the metal skeleton, only that the world is bright once more with the rising sun. All the monsters are gone yet she takes an indeterminate amount of time in convincing herself that she must keep moving like her hero would want. Every inch of her throbs with a dull ache, head pounding with body much too sore and internally screaming at each minuscule movement to free herself from under the rusted shell of parts.

The bag is torn apart, insides trampled and hardly scavengable. It’s alright, though. Despero doesn’t feel like eating or drinking, anyway, despite lingering starvation and a parched throat. Nor at using the first-aid kit with its large band-aids, wounds an angry red and scabbed over. They hurt more than anything, but everything is just so numb that she just doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care without her hero.

Knife in hand, she continues wandering without true purpose. She thinks, yet doesn’t, ensnared in dissociation that scrambles her memories of what’s reality and isn’t. Most importantly, she thinks of her hero as tears fall, but like everything else she doesn’t feel them.

* * *

 

The girl slowly rises back up after buckling to the ground for the umpteenth time, more lethargic after each frequent fall. Lying there unmoving while her brain sluggishly registers that she’s down, the child just stares blankly ahead. Her lip wobbles as much as her hands pushing with sapped strength, biting back whimpers as she manages to crawl her way to the nearest tree for support. She cries for her hero who still never comes.

Gunshots ring out in the not-so-far distance, and she begins to race as fast as her heart, stuttering with the only hope she has to go on.

_He’s alive_.

* * *

 

_Crunch!_

Prompto’s relief of his precious camera’s safety is short-lived, device still clutched high over his head as he not-so-gracefully faceplants by courtesy of an ornery charging garula. He rolls over fast with a wince of a definite broken rib or five, swapping device for gun as he takes aim of the stampeding beast intent on finishing him off. It’s a sloppy string of shots, and he doesn’t miss Gladio criticizing him over the scuffle as he handles three at a time like it’s no big deal.

“Pull yourself together, Prompto!” He hisses to himself, wheezing more than anything as he evades a tusk as thick as his pounding skull, not about to let some giant hunk of meat take him down - well, again.

He doesn’t even understand why this particular one’s got some vendetta against him when the big guy’s the one that consumes steak like no tomorrow, or even the Advisor who cooks them up himself with those new recipes he keeps coming up with. Regardless, the gunner bites his lip as he scrambles to put distance between himself and hairy overgrown cow, mustering effort into putting the once docile beast down for good. The sooner they slay the herd, the sooner he can check out that picture. It’ll totally be worth the broken ribs, because he’s pretty sure the guys won’t believe what he saw otherwise. Six, even he’s unsure, but he’s got eyes sharper than Specs and that of a photographer’s. His vision never lies.

There’s something watching them, Prompto’s certain of it even if he can’t spot them anymore from the treeline. Whatever - whoever - it was is gone, but he’ll at least have the picture as proof.

The garula’s taken out with a skillful headshot that pierces right between the eyes, and another time he’d be super impressed, but he’s dropping to his knees with gulping, painful breaths. He’s confident that one rib’s been upgraded to however many are in the human body. A lot.

“You okay, Blondie?” He’s not quite sure when his best friend’s warps to his side in a flash of blue, taking too long to decipher the nickname that Noct’s talking to him. “Prom? You good?”

“Mn? Ye’m good.” Prompto doesn’t lie very well, but takes the offering hand that pulls him up and almost back over to the ground. “Got good ‘hot.”

“Yeah, you shot like a pro.” Noct confirms, distracted by retrieving a hi-potion from his fatigue pockets, but the blond only shakes his head with a sharp inhale that has him seeing spots. “C’mon, you can barely stand.”

The photographer shakes his head again, not even complaining at having an arm slung over the Prince’s shoulder before replaced with sturdy stone as Noct warpstrikes back into the fray. Prompto keeps shooting for all that he’s worth, determined as ever to prove that it’s something despite feeling like nothing. He’s half-tempted to pull out his camera again at just watching the trio expertly fight in effortless sync, strikes linking as one with perfect execution. Iggy’s got his strategy and intelligence, daggers impeccably precise with gymnast grace. Gladio’s strength never wavers, greatsword swinging by even greater muscles. Noct’s, well, everything he isn’t. He’s just an idiot with a knack for ballistics and getting his ass handed to him by a garula all because he thought -  _knows_ he saw something out there and just had to snap a pic.

Prompto puts on a smile once the Hunt is finished by no thanks to him even as Noct compliments his skill at providing cover regardless of injuries. The blond grins brightly despite the conflicting thoughts that he doesn’t deserve such praise and shouldn’t have gotten hurt to start with, stepping away from the boulder only to stumble back into a startled Noct’s arms.

“Shit. You _are_ getting a hi-potion.” His voice is tight, not to be argued with this time which is worrisome because Prompto doesn’t resist. He catches sight of Shield and Advisor completing their collection of tusk and steak, waving them over to give him a hand.

“Did good?”

“You always do. C’mon, tough guy, let’s get you back to camp.”

Unbeknownst to the party, their trip back to the Haven isn’t alone.

* * *

 

“Looks like a whole lotta nothing.”

“Maybe you saw a spirit. Y’know, like how Gentiana sometimes shows up?”

“I take that back. It’s a ghost, and now you’re cursed for life.”

Prompto groans, wincing as Ignis tightens the bandages around tender torso with a clipped addition that perhaps it’s just a lesson to pay more attention in combat instead of leaving himself vulnerable. He’s definitely learned it, especially with picture no more than an amateur blur to his dismay, clearly having snapped it the second the garula had sent him soaring. With the lack of proof, they don’t believe him, and Prompto starts to doubt himself though there’s nothing new about that.

They leave him be to rest, staring blankly up at the canvas ceiling while overhearing them move around outside. He can make out Noct’s desire to scout the swamps for a fishing spot and Gladio’s rumbling mention he might as well take a look around for any wild ingredients to scavenge while keeping the Princess safe. Ignis grants them leave, not needing to remind them to be back before dark after their first run-in with daemons. The Advisor knocks on the tent’s flap, kind enough to ask if the blond needs anything before making a quick trip back into town to stock up on something or another, Prompto’s too into his own head to really focus.

“Nah, ‘m cool. Thanks, Igster.” He tries to roll over so he doesn’t have to see the disapproving look Iggy’s surely giving him, grimacing at the action before giving up with a huff. “Sorry about today.”

“The day’s not over yet.” The Advisor says in that cryptic way of his that Prompto supposes is meant to be reassuring. “Should you change your mind, I’m but a call or text away as are Noct and Gladio. I shan’t be long.”

Prompto nods, wondering why Ignis acts like he cares about him at all as he listens to the Regalia’s engine smoothly rumble to life. It wouldn’t surprise him if Noct has anything to do with it.

Sighing, he shifts to atleast get a little more comfortable as the idea of a nap crawls into his subconscious.

It’s not the only thing that does some time later.

 

* * *

 

“ _Noct off, knock_.” Prompto slurs in his sleep, grumbling at the Prince who won’t keep poking his bandaged torso as he lazily attempts to swipe them off with an uncoordinated hand that just uselessly flops aside. He must have been successful at the probing assaults having ceased, and he manages a victorious smirk.

It starts up again this time frantically on his face, something else tugging at the same arm and a voice whimpering nonsense that’s way too high pitched to be his best friend. Both puzzled and agitated, Prompto cracks open an azure eye. Bright blue eyes stare right back at him, not even an inch away from his own.

He screams like a little girl, like the very same one who yelps in surprise as she tumbles backwards off and away from him. The first he notes is just how small she is, more mud than kid and hardly able to stand. She’s shivering, crying, and it all but rips his heart out, going against all better judgement as he attempts to sit up to at least reach for her. Prompto manages a smile, a tiny, delicate thing like the very one that shyly graces her lips, as he logically tries process just what in Eos is happening as if this is all some weird curative side effect that has him seeing things. Maybe she’s thinking the same thing, unable to believe that this dream is really real as she hesitantly raises her own tiny hand out towards his.

The blond should say something, like ask if this is actually happening, or he's about to be bestowed some great destiny like in those video games he plays. Can't be the latter, he's in no way important for something like that, and besides--

“PROMPTO?!”

The moment shatters to pieces, and the child bolts out of the tent with Prompto half-scrambling, half-wheezing to even rise to his feet. He’s greeted with a wall of muscle by the time it takes him to, Gladio as surprised to see him as he is. Noct’s right behind him as is Ignis, all looking concerned as if he’s gone mad.

“Prom, are you-”

“She was here!”

“Who? Gentiana?”

“No! From the picture!”

He’s not quite sure who the exasperated yet firm sigh of his name comes from, probably all three as Gladio muscles past him to check the tent for any threats. Ignis raises an eyebrow at the messy prints on once white bandages, not missing at how the Shield grumbles at the dirt tracked inside then a grunt of confusion as he steps back out with a knife that doesn’t belong to any of them. If he’s right on his guess, it’s a common one favored by Hunters.

“All right, I’ll bite. Who’re we looking for?”

It takes Prompto a minute to realize that Gladio’s actually asking him, borderline on believing the big guy’s _believing_ him after numerous complaints of how the blond typically jumps and whines at every little thing. Using his photographer’s eye, he describes the kid much to Noct’s initial disbelief that there’s a child out there in the wilderness all by themselves. Gladio listens, or so he dares to hope, tracking the campsite for proof of their little visitor as Ignis watches without a word while making his own observations. Nothing of value has been touched, not loose gil nor food left out in preparation for supper. There is, however, a child-sized footprint left behind on soft earth, no way to be mistaken for a creature. It goes without saying how late in the hour it is with sun just touching the horizon, and Prompto’s still uncertain if they’re truly taking his word for truth.

“‘Better safe than sorry’, as the saying goes.” Ignis pushes his glasses up with the palm of his hand. “Gladio, if you’d lead the way?”

“R-Really?”

“Ain’t no way a kid’s surviving a night out here.” The Shield sets aside the blade that might as well be a butterknife to the daemons they’ve witnessed, even more useless in the hands of a child. “Search party’s more useful the more’s out looking. You two comin’?”

Neither hesitates.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hero.

The kid’s hurting.

Prompto doesn’t need to be a master tracker like Gladio to figure that out, following the trail composed of unsteady feet and impressions the size of a fallen child, frequency of the latter ever increasing. He can envision the girl now, lost and afraid as she’d bolted from their campsite with what little strength she’d scrapped together, tripping in her frenzied dash only to hastily pick herself back up in fear of them. She couldn’t have gotten far. Six, he hopes she’s not as cruel as that sounds, beating heart plummeting in his aching chest at the sight of yet another spot where she’d collapsed before rising again on squashed grass. The gunner’s sharp eye can’t pretend the blood isn’t there, a sickening sheen under the setting sun’s dying embers.  It’s so quiet save for the occasional cricket chirping, splashes of a distant predator in swampy depths, and snap of random twigs all encompassing that he’s sure to go mad.

The only solace they’ve got is the lack of a body.

“Maybe she’ll come to us if we call for her?” Prompto’s anxiety blurts for him, but Ignis only gives a small shake of his head as he judges just how much sunlight they’ve got and the little distance they’ve covered thus far.

“I imagine we gave her quite the fright to begin with. Likewise, I’d rather not have us draw out any unwanted attention.” The reminder of why she ran off and that of lurking beasts does nothing to assuage the blond’s fears as he wipes sweaty palms on dirty pants. “The best course of action would be to keep tracking. Based off your information and my observations, I shan’t believe we’ll be out here long.”

Prompto doesn’t want to ask what the Advisor means by that, expression laced with concern despite the seemingly cold words. Iggy’s not being mean, just realistic like he’s been trained his whole life to be, but it still bothers him as he then wraps his arms around himself. The kid’s gotta be freezing, too, dressed in nothing but filthy worn-out excuses for clothing. He feels like he’s been dumped in the swamps when Noct comes warping back empty-handed from scouting out ahead, frozen and numb to Gladio’s grunting responses as he consults the trail that’s going just as cold.

“Shit.”

“‘Shit’, what?”

“Voretooth.” The Shield wastes no time in summoning greatsword as he breaks into a run, Noct not having a second for a stasis breather before taking off into a warp to keep up.

Prompto’s sure he’s going to throw up as they switch their flashlight clips on into the engulfing darkness.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long to find the pack of monsters, and Prompto’s never been more grateful for scarce miracles even if they come in the shadowy forms of four gruesome Voretooth encircling the tight niche of rock where the girl can only be. He doesn’t even want to think of how in Astrals’ names she even made the pitifully short distance from their Haven, much less squeezing in what looks like a crevice much too small for a child her age. Though the gunner can hardly hear anything over the snarling beasts howling with venomous claws and gnashing maws to get at the petite snack, he knows she’s gotta be freaking out. Prompto’s positive he would be, shaking at the concept of impossibly small spaces and hellish hounds of nightmarish proportions. Noct squeezes his shoulder in passing, pulling him out of his overly active imagination and making him aware of just how much he’d been trembling.

“Draw ‘em away!” Gladio orders over the chaos with a warrior’s cry and giant blade swinging, gunslinger not needing to be told twice as he obediently conjures up a Starshell that bursts into the darkening sky like a crackling firework.

Their lights dance into battle like beacons, drools of monsters glistening over snapping jaws shining in reflection as weapons clash with flying sparks. The blond thinks of the girl reaching out for him like some hero, completely irrational because he’s certain they’re strangers, yet unable to help but indulge that thought as bullets exterminate a Voretooth seconds away from sinking poisonous fangs into Noct’s calf.

The girl needs _him_ to be the hero he’s not.

He isn’t a lot of things, but maybe he can be.

Prompto shoots like he never has before, rapidfire ceaseless by the Crystal’s blessing of unlimited ammunition. He’s far more ferocious than the Shield’s battle rage, more precise than the Advisor’s effortless perfection, and altering targets faster than the Prince’s warp speed. There’s no time to lose in their daring rescue, yet it’s more than that which spurs his change of combat demeanor. If any of the guys notice, they don’t comment in their haste to slay the beasts, the three combined unmatched to Prompto’s determination. No skirmish has ever gone so smoothly, unaware he’d stopped breathing until the last creature goes down in a barrage of fatal shots. The Shield immediately heads for the slip of stone, flashlight shining into the meager space between boulders.

“Fucking Six.” The big guy swears without meaning, and Prompto’s pretty sure he’s never going to breathe again if the kid’s not. “Look at you.”

It’d be as good as time as any to snarkily reply that he told them so as concerned curiosity gets the better of them all as they crowd around. He can’t make out the softest words he’s ever heard Gladio utter in attempt to coax the child out, heart pounding in his ears as he practically slumps against the rough surface, winded to hell. Sniffling is audible being so close, unable to comprehend if the girl’s whimpering anything back as the big brother reaches in with a gentle hand by means of pulling her out. She bites him and the hand’s quickly withdrawn with a subdued curse by the unexpected reaction that he can’t be mad over. Ignis takes a peek next, and Prompto has no doubt that what he sees is far worse than what his observations had led him to conclude.

“We must get her back to the Haven.” It’s a tone that won’t be challenged despite the challenging situation of the kid clearly not wanting to come out any time soon. Leaving her behind won’t do well on any of their righteous consciences regardless of the dangerous daemons that will surely come as they always do. Noct agrees wholeheartedly like the caring King he’ll be someday.

But she doesn’t crawl out to the Advisor’s carefully chosen words that there’s nothing to fear, nor to Noct’s awkward yet sincere promises that they won’t harm her, that they just want to help. Prompto tries last, believing it to be a lost cause in spite of her having snuck into the tent to see him. If the guys can’t convince her out, there’s no way he can. Biting his lip, the blond tries to think of what he should say as Noct steps aside.

The next he’s aware of is about falling over at the sudden force of not even fifty pounds flying into him, collision knocking the air right out of his lungs as he instinctively wraps his arms to support the meager weight. Clutching around his battered torso like there’s no tomorrow, the girl’s sobs are muffled against his chest as he’s caught by Gladio’s hand to steady him before he really does fall on his ass. The big guy shucks off his jacket next, expression as unreadable as Iggy’s before draping it over the crying child. Noct’s is like an open book, a stormy sea of compassion to be of use, uncertainty of how, and contagious anger of implication that radiates off Shield and Advisor. Prompto just holds her as she cries with no signs of stopping, at a loss for how to comfort despite being the natural expert of the four.

They make for the Haven as five.

* * *

 

The girl’s barely conscious by the time they arrive, cries having died down to the occasional sniffle. Ignis is immediately back to work with dinner, recruiting Noctis in efforts to have the meal prepared as quickly as possible. She doesn’t respond to the sounds of hustle and bustle, not even a peep with face still plastered against Prompto as the blond’s motioned into the tent where their supplies are kept. The lantern’s on, providing a decent amount of light inside the space, and he carefully takes a seat on his sleeping bag as Gladio gathers the rest of what they’ll need.

The child’s a mess and he’s not sure of where to begin, deciding to leave it up to the Shield.

“Hey, kiddo?” Prompto tries not to jostle her too much in attempt to get a glimpse of half-lidded sky blue. Poor thing looks like she’s about to crumble in his arms, weak stare the strongest part about her. “Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

Her head tilts ever slightly, eyebrows furrowed as if confused despite clinging to every spoken word.

“ _R-Ranu?”_

He hasn’t a clue what that means or if he even heard that right, chalking it up to both his and her exhaustion over the hell of an ordeal, but nods with a smile anyway. Whatever he’d confirmed or agreed to, the girl slumps with relief and about starts crying again. Prompto rocks her gently, murmuring over and over that she’s gonna be okay. He’s here, and so is Gladio when he comes back with every first-aid item they own including the chocobo bandaids the gunner had stashed away, and wet towels. He’s brought water, too, handing the canteen to the blond to get her to drink slowly as he sets everything out. A second is fetched when she downs the first in no time at all, draining half before stopping.

“I’m going to need to check her over. Kid’s scratched to hell, and I want to treat those with antibiotics to stave off any infections before giving potions. Before any of that, she first needs to be cleaned up as best we can. Got a change of clothes right here.”

Prompto nods in agreement, not about to argue with the ‘change’ being one of his spare shirts and shorts. He’d give anything for the child cradled in his arms, as bizarre as that surge of protectiveness is - figuring it to be the same feeling Gladio must be having, being a big brother to a little sister and all. It’d explain the incredibly soft side of the Shield that few ever saw, so much more than a muscled giant of a swordsman. The girl, however, doesn’t know that as her hero adjusts so she can see him, big guy holding out the first-aid kit in hopes of gaining favor. She releases a whimper as she curls back against Prompto who experimentally cards a hand in messy locks coated with mud. The physical response is immediate, melting at the stroking touch.

“See? I’m right here, kiddo. Gladio’s a friend, he’s not gonna hurt you. Ah, much. The medicine’ll sting, but that doesn’t count, okay?”

Whether or not she understands, the child just stares as he opens the kit to pull out contents for her to see before getting to work on cleaning her filthy feet with the utmost delicacy. Her eyes never leave the Shield as Prompto stretches to grab one of the towels, deciding to start with the unkempt tangle trap that’s as bad as his gets under a straight week of camping it out. They’ll definitely have to check into a motel for a proper bath, but this’ll have to do for now--assuming, of course, they’ll keep her long enough to do just that, questioning the child’s unknown origins. A runaway, maybe, or a refugee from Insomnia. It was a stretch, being as far from the decimated Kingdom as they were with her just a kid, but then again, so was he -

“Fucking Astrals.” Gladio’s swearing yanks Prompto out of his thoughts with a firm bite of his lip, heart racing as fingers automatically clasp around his bracelet. “These are daemon marks.”

Lines as angry as the Shield are slashed around the child’s ankles and feet, little girl feebly kicking at the man tenderly taking hold of a limb despite his fury. Reigning in the rage at clearly unattended wounds on calloused bare feet, Gladio sets his towel aside in favor of the small dark bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Ssshh, poor baby, it’s going to be alright. This is going to sting, but it’s not going to hurt as much as those monsters that grabbed you. It has to be done, okay?” He definitely has her attention, at least, and he shifts his gaze up to address his companion. “You got your camera nearby, or phone, or something? Kid’s gonna need a distraction.”

“Y-Yeah.” Prompto removes his hand from nervously twisting the leather wrap, withdrawing phone from pocket to pull up King’s Knight.

She’s absorbed into the device immediately as if never seeing one before, entranced by the plethora of colors and movements at but a touch of a finger. When the treatment’s started, however, she grasps his shirt with a cry as she peeks past the screen to look at her feet being dabbed with a stinging ball of cotton. He works fast to unscrew a vial, strange liquid creating green sparkles that dance across pale cleaned skin. Gasping in surprise, the child wiggles her toes in amazement, and it’s the first time Gladio sees her smile.

“You’re one tough kid, you know that?”

* * *

 

The more they clean her up and cover minor scratches with adored chocobo bandaids, the worse Gladio’s temper gets at discovery of further neglect. None are as bad as the scarring of feet, but clear enough that no one’s been looking after her. The answer to Prompto’s quiet questions becomes clear as well, dark muck giving way to pale hazel hair beneath. That, matched with fair skin, gives him all the clues he needs. Without meaning, he snatches the girl’s right wrist in a panic before the big guy gets a chance to gently scrub the dirt off, and about passes out with relief at bare flesh.

The girl’s a Nif, but thank every single Astral she’s not like him.

But.

But what will the guys think, because none of them are stupid. They don’t know about him, thank the Astrals again, but after losing their home to Niflheim and getting hounded by their MTs on the daily, there’s no way they’ll want anything to do with any of them. She’s just a kid, though, and Prompto’s ready defend her from unfair scrutiny, as much as his anxiety over the matter wants to throw up. It’ll be easier, he’s sure, to accept a child under shitty circumstances than a human experiment kidnapped from some lab. That’s a secret they can never know.

“So you, uh, think she’s from Niflheim?”

“Think it’s pretty obvious, Prom.”

_Shit._

“Y-Yeah, me too. That _she_ is, I mean. Not-Not me. We’re. Um. Gonna keep her, right? Until we get to Lestallum, y’know? That’s as safe a place as any-”

“You’re kidding.”

“Look, I know-”

“‘Course we are. Doesn’t mean a damn thing where she’s from. Fuck, I’ll kick whoever’s ass that abandoned her like this. Look at her, she’s just a kid. Just like Iris when she was her age, except-yeah, definitely going to kill whoever’s behind this.”

Prompto’s rendered speechless, awestruck by the declaration that has him on the verge of tears. It’s not about him, he knows that, can’t expect that the guys would infiltrate the Empire with guns ablazing just for him, reeling himself back into the intended audience of the half-snoozing child on his lap and in his clothes. The blond’s not certain of how much time has passed, silence ticking by peacefully save for Gladio’s muttered threats of bodily harm while packing up the medical supplies and taking the towels outside to be washed later. Ignis knocks on the tent’s flap to announce that dinner is ready when they are.

“Sshh, shh. You can go right back to sleep after eating, I promise.” Prompto croons at the girl’s weak protesting in adjustment to be carried out and to where dinner’s waiting, murmuring that word again as she clutches close while he stands.

 _Ranu_.

It’s gotta be Nif for something then, but what, Prompto doesn’t know. All he does know is that if she keeps calling him by that, the guys are going to find out - Six, that’s probably why she’s so attached to him in the first place with his foreign looks.

“I’m _Prompto_.” He shifts to point at himself, praying for the kid to follow. He wonders if she even has any clue what they’ve been saying so far, anyway. “ _Prompto_. That’s me. Not, ah, Ranu.”

“ _Ranu_?” She’s obviously confused and he repeats the gesture. “Pom toe?”

“Yeah, you got it.” The blond nods with a smile and she mirrors it with her own, few baby teeth missing but all parts adorable.

“ _Ranu_ Pom toe.”

Her hero’s name is Prompto.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe.

The campfire’s as warm and welcoming as ever when Prompto settles in chair with child safely furled on his lap. Though still tired and clutching to his shirt as if afraid to let go, she’s definitely curious about the change of scenery and fellow rescuers, watching quietly as Noct helps Ignis ladle five bowls full of an incredibly smelling dinner that has little button nose twitching. He can practically feel the tiny stomach rumbling against his own, small child too scrawny beneath spare clothes that may as well be blankets like the behemoth swordsman’s jacket tucked around slim shoulders. She shies inwardly against Prompto whenever her timid gaze briefly meets with one of the three strangers’, soothed by her hero that it’s okay, or at the very least hoping the excessively gentle tone gets the point across. Noct glances over the most, smiling the softest of shy smiles, melting the blond’s heart into a mushy puddle of hopeless adoration as he waves to their little guest. She repeats the action after a moment with the smallest of waves, upgrading his heart’s condition into fuzzy goo when Noct grins back.

Gladio’s accepted the kid as a Nif, even going so far as to decide for them all that she’s staying under their care to Lestallum - not that Prompto can imagine they’d ever disagree, but it’s a fear that can never be fully shaken. The bracelet covering his lifelong secret is proof of that, subconsciously fiddling with the band as the girl makes a whining sound at the disturbing movements until he quickly stops. They’re similar in more ways than one and the blond can’t shake the theory that the kid’s been surviving out here by her lonesome like how he basically raised himself since childhood. Prompto had been so painfully lonely, starved for any and all contact and pathetically desperate for a single friend. No one had been there to look after him, not really.

But he can at least be here for her, right? It’s a lot to promise to a girl he honestly doesn’t know except that they’re both from Niflheim - not to mention their current on-the-road lifestyle - but gods, it’s not fair for anyone to endure what he did, and if he can do anything to prevent it -

“Here we are, little one. I imagine you must be rather hungry.” Prompto can’t remember when the Advisor had smoothy walked over with bowls for them both, setting one aside for later once the child’s eaten. All this worrying has killed his appetite anyway. “I do hope this is to your liking.”

“Ain’t no better cookin’ than Iggy’s,” Gladio reassures when she doesn’t answer, gesturing to the man with glasses with spoon in hand before pointing at the other male. “even if Princess lent a hand.”

“Hey!” Noct takes offense across the fire, making a face while not-so-discreetly separating vegetables from anak meat.

“We could have fed our guest Cup Noodles instead, Gladio--and no, that most certainly will _not_ be an alternative.” Ignis defends with a sigh much to the Shield’s protest they’re full of all the nutrients a growing kid needs.

The chef then offers a tender smile as the child peers past swirling steam to contents of various shapes and colors in thick broth. Wordlessly exchanging a look with but a glance at the protruding spoon, Prompto gets the unspoken message with a nod. Undoubtedly if given control, the girl will only make herself sick by eating too much too fast. She’s fatigued enough as is, uncertain if she’s even the energy to feed herself to begin with. All eyes are on the pair despite the semblance of normalcy of eating in their usual spots, expressions grim when Prompto’s gaze flickers over each one before mustering an assuring smile.

“Alrighty, kiddo, it’s chow time.” With the utmost care does he spoon a good portion of broth, leaning forward to cool it down with a cheeky puff of air that gets not even a ghost of a giggle in response. “Say ‘aah.”’

She doesn’t say anything, mouth firmly closed as a tiny hand frees itself to push his arm away. The girl shakes her head, prodding the limb upwards towards his own mouth in a silent request. Her stomach’s pitifully rumbling, swearing she’s drooling over Iggy’s picture perfect presentation, and practically borderline on tears, but she’s insistent he get a bite.

If the guys had started eating, they’ve certainly stopped now.

“I’ve got plenty over there, see? This is just for you, kiddo. It’s okay.” Prompto tries to reason, understanding the heartbreaking behavior as little as she understands what he’s saying. At a loss because _gods_ does she _need_ to eat, he concedes by shoving the spoonful in his mouth and beams with a nod. “Mmm, there’s no better cooking than Iggy’s! Now you try, alright?”

The look of relief on her face is going to kill him, like she’s the one happy that _he_ ate something. Hoping to the Six that the child’s willing to eat now, Prompto wastes no time in scooping another serving, thanking the very same deities when her mouth opens. Pale sky blue lights up the very second the bombardment of flavors hits her tongue as if for the first time in too long a time, and hungry for more. So, so hungry. Before he can spoon up another offering, she’s grabbing for the bowl and it tilts out of his barely balanced grasp like the klutz he is, clattering to pieces onto glowing runestones and spilling contents everywhere. The girl’s crying, and for a heartbeat does he think the ceramic crash is what startled her followed by the guys grumbling about his shit coordination. She’s off his lap in the next blink before he can even try to calm her.

_Six._

_Fucking_ **_Six._ **

The kid’s trying to _eat_ right off the _ground_ , shaking and crying until Prompto lunges off his chair to pull her back before hurting herself on shattered shards. There’s a crash - three to be exact, of chairs being knocked over, and the distinguishable sound of Gladio barely suppressing of a typhoon of swears and urge to pummel the nearest inanimate object. Noct’s at their side in a flash, visible through the tears that Prompto can’t restrain as he begs for her to be still. His best friend’s practically shoving the hardly touched soup of his own bowl towards her, rambling that she can eat it, eat all of it, that there’s more, she doesn’t need to do _that_. Ignis is trembling while cleaning the mess with haste, and the blond can’t recall ever seeing him be anything that isn’t perfectly composed. The Advisor mentions his neglected dinner through tight lips, insistent that the girl can have it all to the very last drop.

Prompto doesn’t understand the new phrase hiccupped between sobs of careful spoonfuls provided by Noct, preoccupied by rubbing her back in attempts to keep from crying himself and already failing on that front. She’s  _thanking_ them, he’s certain of it, at just being given real food - food they consume on the regular - like it’s some great blessing from the Six and every Astral that exists. Fuck, she’d probably be scarfing down that stinky tofu Ignis had experimented on them a few days back, and still _thank_ them for the meal. He doesn’t need to ask either if they’re willing to let her stay like Gladio, actions speaking far louder than any word.

* * *

 

Small stomach stuffed with soup, the child slumbers peacefully curled up in Prompto’s arms, completely oblivious to the suffocating atmosphere surrounding the campfire.

“Who the hell abandons a kid to fend for themselves?”

 _You’d be surprised_. Prompto bites his tongue, focusing on calmly stroking hazel locks as Ignis replies rather coldly of what they’ve experienced firsthand of The Empire’s cruelty. Regardless, the only one who knows the girl’s true story is herself, a traumatized child that likely won’t tell anyone save for clearly favored companion.

“Could start with anyone that looks like Blondie here. She’s pretty attached for just meeting you.”

“Prom’s got that effect on people.”

“I daresay the two of you could almost be related.”

 _Shit, shit, shit_.

The girl fusses in her sleep, shifting against his chest to muffle out their voices, and Prompto’s so ready to continue this conversation never.

“Perhaps it’s time we turn in for the evening.” Ignis spares him before he can scapegoat by means of girl in need of a good night’s rest. “Noct, if you would fetch the extra blankets from the Regalia.”

“On it.”

He’s there and back in a flash with items in hand, Advisor thanking him before the three youngest shuffle inside the tent to comfortably settle. Gladio assists with putting the rest the dishes away, giving them a moment’s privacy together.

“Gonna take it that Blondie doesn’t know we know.” The Shield murmurs once certain they won’t be overheard, glancing at moving shadows along the tent’s wall.

“‘We’ being ‘us’, yes. Noct doesn’t as far as I’m aware, unless Prompto’s divulged his past in secret. Their friendship is a necessity to them both, so I sincerely doubt he’d risk anything to tarnish it.”

“Kid worries too damn much, thinking we’d give him any shit for being born a Nif.”

“Yes, well, when your best friend is the Crown Prince of Lucis, I should think that ought warrant much worry.” Ignis informs with a push of his glasses, though not unkind with statements of facts that couldn’t be any more obvious like when he’d first met the boy.

“‘specially when his Advisor’s so ruthlessly thorough when it comes to researching whoever dares breathe in Princess’s general direction, right?” Gladio smirks.

“Hilarious.” Said Advisor deadpans, the humor not lost on him. “I was merely curious as to who brought the smile back to Noct’s face.”

“‘Curious’ being ‘jealous’, gotcha.” The swordsman teases again, and once more doesn’t get a visible rise out of the man save for a small fond smile.

“One cannot deny the ‘effect he has on people.’”

“Noct got that right.” The fondness for the blond is contagious, unable to help a smile himself. “Ain’t got anything to worry about with him, either. Gonna be a damn great King when the time comes to sit on that throne.”

“I look forward to seeing that day.” Ignis agrees on all accounts, giving everything a final look-over before deeming their work satisfactory. “Though back to the matter at hand, am I being bold in assuming you plan on introducing our guest to Iris?”

Gladio nods, not needing to comment on their shared feelings about the girl in need of some major TLC, preferring to handle it personally than leave the child under the care of strangers in hopes they’ll raise her properly. The Advisor’s private investigations of Prompto’s upbringing and dropped hints from Noct only strengthen this resolve.

Inside the tent, all suspicions are confirmed true.

The girl’s tucked between them, swaddled in blankets and securely wrapped in her favorite rescuer’s arms, snoozing away without a care in the world much like the Prince. They must have been playing King’s Knight before sleep had claimed the two, phones left abandoned nearby with screens still lit and the electric lantern as well. With a roll of his eyes does Gladio scoop their phones up to the portable charger, muttering something about the scene going to give him a cavity or twelve. Ignis just shakes his head, doting nature having him pull their sleeping bags up to better cover them both and the child snuggling ever closer to Prompto.

His mind wanders as it always does, wondering when the last time was that the girl had slept in safety and soft warmth with another person.

Deciding against turning the light off completely for that very reason, Ignis settles in his spot on the blond’s free side while the Shield lays by his primary charge.

He hopes her dreams remain peaceful.

* * *

 

 _Hhnn. Hhhhnngg._   _Hic!_

For a moment, Prompto just lies there half asleep with eyes shut. His sleep-addled brain can’t for the life of him understand what that noise is, or where it’s coming from. Well, he can figure the latter, obviously, the source coming from him but _not_ him, rather from whatever he’s got his arms around that’s fighting his hold with even louder sounds. Distressed, and escalating with each flailing movement.

Oh.

_Oh, shit, the kid!_

He snaps awake to the girl he’d totally forgotten about in the few hours they’d been inseparable, small child starting to cry in her struggle to break free. Releasing her immediately, she gasps awake with a heart-wrenching sob.

“Hey, hey, sshh. What’s wrong?” Prompto whispers, sitting up to pull her onto his lap. Her cries don’t cease, and he glances around to the three still thankfully asleep. They all need their rest, knowing full well how grumpy they all get when rudely woken by his tossing and turning. It’s a miracle they haven’t booted him out yet. “Was just a nightmare, huh? You’re okay, you’re okay.”

But the girl’s not okay even as he tries to soothe to the best of his abilities, anxiety only worsening with her crescendoing wails. The guys are gonna wake up, and they’re gonna be pissed, and they’re gonna wanna get rid of her -

Ignis is up without a word, leaving the tent. It’s too early for breakfast, having enough sense of time with how dark it still is, save for the dimmed lantern. Prompto really doesn’t want to think of what the Advisor’s up to, maybe arranging to hand her off to some orphanage or something. Stroking her hair isn’t doing anything, and neither is rubbing her back, and he doesn’t know _what to do -_

“C’mon, ssshhh, it’s going to be okay. You’re gonna wake them-”

“Lemme hold her, Blondie.”

Prompto about jumps to Gladio suddenly right next to him, unaware of just when the behemoth of a man had made his way across from the sleeping Prince to where Iggy had been.

“Iris would get pretty bad nightmares, too.” It’s just like earlier, rumbling voice reserved with nothing but tenderness for the young kid as Gladio opens his arms to receive the quivering form as Prompto numbly hands her over in a loss. “Bet there’s a lotta shit you’ve seen, huh, Princess?”

“ _Wha ‘bout ‘e?_ ” Noct’s sleep-laced mumble of a drawl comes out behind him, waking rather quickly for once at sight of the crying girl cradled in his Shield’s gentle yet firm hold. “She have a bad dream?”

“Y-Yeah. Think so.” Prompto stammers, biting his lip now that they’re all awake because he couldn’t calm her down like Gladio so effortlessly can. His heart’s beating in his chest, hammering against the floor with how they’re so...so not _mad._

“That sucks.” His best friend comments, more sympathetic than anything as he tiredly crawls to lean against the cross-legged blond to better address the mostly quieted child being lightly rocked against the warm chest. “I get ‘em sometimes. They can be pretty scary, huh? But Gladio here, he’s waaay more scary. They’ll have to go through him first.”

The girl doesn’t say anything, peeking over the muscled arm with glistening red-rimmed eyes. She glances to Prompto who just smiles in hopes of assurance and manages the weakest in return.

“Apologies for the delay.” The Advisor returns with a steaming mug of what smells like warmed milk, Noct mentioning as such and confirming with a fond curve of lips. “This should help.”

Gladio shifts just enough to have tiny back resting along bicep, accepting the heated delicacy with a free hand. Slightly trembling, she surprisingly reaches for the handle, assisted by gentle giant in taking a slow sip. The comforting effect is immediate, and none miss the way her eyes shine at the taste of something so mundane as milk. She’s practically asleep by the time it’s half drained, nodding off with the sweetest of yawns. The Shield holds her a bit longer before carefully ushering her back over to Prompto, Noct handing the mug back to Ignis to be put away for later should it be needed.

“Let us try for sleep, hm?” The blond nods, still in a daze like this was all some dream certainly too good to be true. Cautiously, he lays back down as not to disturb the child, curled up with small head protectively tucked beneath chin as they settle once more.

It’s probably his imagination that they’re closer than usual, as if daring any ill will to befall her again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning.

The girl isn’t certain when she quietly stirs from sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness with each slow inhale and exhale. There’s warmth all the way from steady breaths fanning disheveled hazel to bare toes entangled in fluffy blankets. Although she cannot see the source of comforting heat like that of the sun, she feels safe in the sanctuary of his arms. Like before, but far softer without the sharp bulk of armor. The child likes it a lot more this way, hardly able to remember a time when the world was ever so kind. When she was much smaller, perhaps, nostalgic memories obscured by time as she wiggles closer with a pleased sigh when held closer in muttered response. Quietly, the girl’s eyes partially open while squirming to free a hand to touch her hero’s peacefully slumbering face that drools against pillow.

“ _Pom toe.”_ She whispers, smiling giddily at the undeniable truth that he’s alive and well despite everything, here with her in this safe haven as soft as clouds.

_Beep! Be-!_

A whimper escapes from parted lips at alarm not silenced fast enough, plugging her ears with a shudder that nearly consumes her entire being. A foreign voice says something through muffled hearing, trembling frame encased in an even tighter embrace with hero sluggishly attempting to soothe her shivers. It takes longer than it should to realize the lack of rapid gunshots, world just as relatively quiet and peaceful before piercing interruption. Tensing without meaning, she waits for something terrible to happen at careful footsteps approaching and holds her breath. The foreign voice isn’t so foreign despite obvious accent, murmuring for her to go back to sleep with a coaxing hand threading cautiously through slightly matted hair. She nearly does, lulled by gentle words and tender touch, the questioning word of _‘vydran’_ slipping out. They pause only briefly before resuming a few minutes more, promising that breakfast will be ready when she next wakes.

Giving in with a yawn and nuzzle against hero, her eyes slip shut for but a second before snapping open at delayed recognition of her mother tongue, a familiarity she hadn’t expected to hear again after going so long without. It feels like she’s gone a long time without eating as well, faded taste delicious milk still on her tongue along with rich stew greater than anything imaginable. Hungry and intrigued, the little girl untangles herself from heavy limbs, tiptoeing quietly as not to disturb her snoozing hero and the two bundled figures she doesn’t entirely recall, only that they must be nice since they’re still around - even if they snore like monsters.

* * *

 

The Advisor’s surprised to see her up while casting a final glance over sleeping party. Undoubtedly by now the child’s very likely associated him with food, and so by going with him will she get something to eat. Even with that in mind, Ignis is further bewildered when tiny hand clings to the bottom of his shirt, confirmation that she must be hungry to so willingly part from Prompto after the events of yesterday. Speaking of the gunner, however, it’s clear she’s worried about him as he rolls over with a grumble of something or other, child looking between the two in silent question.

“Prompto?” The girl nods and he puts on an assuring smile while kneeling before her, recalling phrases he’d been brushing up on before neglecting to turn off the phone’s alarm. They work, concerns assuaged by careful pronunciations that he’s okay, just sleeping. Resting his hand on his stomach, Ignis beckons with a tilt of his head to the exit. “ _Yna oui rihkno?”_

She responds automatically with another nod, still in a daze despite understanding perfectly with tiny tummy rumbling. Reaching back through the crowded space to retrieve one of the blankets not wrestled around companion, Ignis drapes it around her and takes note of just how small their young guest is within. Small, yet trusting of them despite living through a hell that Astrals only know of from last night’s damning evidence. He’s certain she could use more rest, carefully running a hand through the tangle of pale hazel that melts those innocent yet haunted eyes closed to the simplest affection. When moving to stand once more, the child whines, chasing his retreating hand with both her own for just a second longer.

He shouldn’t be so taken aback by clear signs of touch deprivation considering all else, adding it to the ever-growing list of calculated vengeance to whoever left such a shy, sweet child like this. Ignis keeps it up for more than a second longer, only halting when her stomach growls in reminder that she must eat. He intends to take care of that much like how he plans to deliver justice with every way he knows how.

“ _Lusa fedr sa._ ”

* * *

 

Early dawn greets them outside the tent, paused by the girl’s tug on shirt in breathless admiration for the gorgeous sunrise. It is quite the view from their Haven, Advisor commenting idly in Lucian before translating to Nif at the child’s confusion. Perhaps she isn’t a survivor of Insomnia’s fall to not have absorbed any Lucian, one of just many refugees lucky to make their escape from hostile homeland only for destruction to follow. It’s fortunate for them all of his prodigal upbringing involving rigorous studies of foreign language, such lessons he hadn’t expected would come into use on their once simple road trip.

Sight taken in, she then follows like a shadow to the camp’s kitchen, watching with timid interest while he gathers necessary ingredients and proper equipment for a healthy breakfast. Setting aside a can of Ebony from the cooler, he withdraws a half pint of orange juice and milk for the child to choose from and selects the latter after a moment of internal debate. Hesitantly, she glances back at the tent before reaching for the other with the clear intention she wants to share with Prompto. Reassurances given that he’ll have it later, she accepts the little milk carton with both hands, opened and with straw by courtesy of the gentleman. After the events of yesterday, he would have figured her to down the milk in record time, and pauses briefly to look at her while cracking his beverage open. The girl’s expression reads that she doesn’t dislike it, rather the opposite in fact as if savoring every slow drop like it’s the last she’ll get.

Gladio has the right idea.

Adjusting his glasses with a clenched hand, Ignis kneels back down to her level, resting the other on blanketed shoulder.

_“Oui femm hud ku rihkno rana.”_

_You will not go hungry here._

She blinks once with a tiny inhale, face like an open book with pages he cannot even hope to begin to understand for all the emotion swelled inside. Another blink, and it all shatters away, crumbles into nothing but gratefulness that has no business being there as that next breath becomes a hiccup of the sobs to come. Ignis doesn’t wait any longer, carefully retrieving the carton out of loose fingers to safely set on the counter before embracing child in desperate need of a hug. Initiating contact and physical comfort is more of the blond’s specialty, but she clutches to him all the same. The Advisor doesn’t dare let go until she’s ready, allowing all the time she needs with soft shushing sounds.

Gladio won’t have a chance to end whoever’s responsible when Ignis gets ahold of them first.

* * *

 

The girl’s cradled against his chest with an arm, nibbling on a slice of jelly garnished toast while observing the chef at work expertly flip pancakes with free hand. At first, she’d been content to watch on tiptoes just to peer over high countertop, though soon curious and reaching up in silent request to be held. It’d been the first she’d heard him chuckle, unable to help the slip of a laugh before lifting her up to see.

They’ll have to take up another Hunt and soon, certain the slain Garulas’ bounty won’t be enough to cover old and new priorities such as getting the girl suitable clothing and at least a night in a motel with basic comforts. Wiz’s Chocobo Post ought to have something her size before their destination of Lestallum. Without meaning, Ignis finds himself asking if she has a favorite color, not expecting a response with how quiet she’s been save for the earlier crying. He wouldn’t be surprised, given all the trauma, if--

 _“...P-Pmia._ ” The softest of voices whispers after a moment. _“Mega_ Pom Toe _aoac_.”

Blue, specifically the color of Prompto’s eyes. Though the unexpected reply had caught him off-guard, it’s the quiet comment afterwards that throws the Advisor further off.

They’re prettier blue than red.

“ _Fryd-”_

“Looks like you got your hands full there, Ig.” Gladio’s sudden unannounced presence has the child gasp, hiding her face as if able to disappear against the man’s chest if she tries hard enough. “Shit-”

Ignis gives him a warning glare, not about to expose her to profanity even if not understood, though likely knows it all by now.

“I mean  _shoot_ , did I scare you, Princess?”

She doesn’t answer, but peeks her head out at the familiar coaxing rumble. The gentle giant that had healed her injuries and helped soothe the nightmare away. As an act of good will, the child offers the rest of her toast to the muscled man who arches in eyebrow before gently nudging it back to her with a small, sad smile.

“You eat that for me, okay?”

She still doesn’t understand, assured quietly by translating Advisor that the swordsman doesn’t miss as the girl finishes the last few bites.

“Gonna give Iris a call, see how she’s holding up.” Gladio informs aloud, big brother nature coming into play as he grabs a wet rag to clean the girl’s face free of sticky jelly. He tries not to think of a younger Iris, faltering at that sweet, innocent little smile when he playfully ruffles her hair when done. “She’ll love you, ki- hey, we got a name yet?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten that far, as rude as that sounds.” Ignis shifts his hold, surprised yet again when slender limbs reach out for the Shield naturally taking her in his arms like the hundreds of times he’d done for baby sister from their father. The only difference is the kid’s lighter, and the memories much heavier.

“Name’s Gladiolus.” He murmurs softly, gesturing to himself with a thumb.

“ _Gl-Gladdyoli-lu-_ ” She tries her best to repeat it, frowning as the name twists and trips on her tongue. He huffs a laugh, tousling disheveled locks once more with massive yet tender hand.

“Gladio’s cool too, kiddo.”

“ _Gla’io._ ” He swears the girl giggles by praise of messing up her hair a third time, grinning at Advisor who flips a few more pancakes before cracking eggs in a skillet.

“Was gonna go on a morning jog, too, but I can stick around to play babysitter while you cook in peace.”

“Who’s to say you won’t sneak Cup Noodles behind my back, hm?”

The gentle giant just shakes his head with relatively innocent hand raised in mock offense at teased accusation only _slightly_ justified by past actions. Holding the kid for just a moment longer to keep himself from delving into the past clinging as tight as tiny charge, Gladio at least helps with one-armed tasks while Ignis goes about preparing what might as well be a breakfast feast.

“This here’s Ignis and he doesn’t let me have any fun.” The Shield makes a face while passing the child back over when the man’s ready, re-adjusting blanket before ruffling for a final time. “I’ll be back later.”

Ignis gives curt acknowledgement of a nod and word of caution, swordsman waving for the girl’s benefit and grinning at gesture mirrored by little hand.

_“In’nis.”_

The Advisor smiles with another nod, asking for her name in return.

She doesn’t remember.

* * *

 

When Prompto wakes, he’s immediately swamped with dread that there’s something wrong. It doesn’t take a pathetically long amount of time to figure out what the matter is unlike the obvious from last night. There’d been a forgotten, crying child in his arms compared to now where the blankets are void of girl he definitely remembers existing.

She’s nowhere to be seen.

Panicking, he tosses abandoned covers aside and even shakes dead-to-the-world Prince awake who only grumbles something incomprehensible before falling back asleep.

She’s gone.

She’s gone, _she’s gone_ , **_she’s gone_**.

Tangled in blankets by frenzied search, Prompto trips out of tent with wild eyes catching sight of child safe and sound with Ignis cooking up breakfast. They’re kind of talking, conversing voices hushed in a scene that can’t possibly be any more domestic. If he wasn’t certain about the Advisor’s stance on him, he’d be half-tempted to kiss the man.

Whoa, where’d that thought come from?

Taking a step forward, Prompto’s view drops from the pair to runestones, falling face-first by forgotten ensnarement and numbing relief that the girl’s okay.

_“Ranu!”_

The unmistakable shriek nearly sends him right back to panic mode, hastily freeing himself with a shaky smile. Ignis has that look, the one he always has when pondering over a particular problem, and that smile becomes a lot more forced, mask of normality cracking while hiding behind fabric shoved back inside. Inhaling sharply, Prompto gathers his bearings while walking over like he hadn’t just tripped right on his face, finally exhaling at child reaching for him.

 _"'Ranu’_ means ‘hero’, if you were curious.” Ignis says rather casually while passing their eager ward over, a fond curve to his lips at how the girl fully relaxes once in her hero’s arms. “She must think rather highly of you.”

All Prompto can really do is sputter unintelligibly, afraid to ask just what all information the Advisor’s managed to extract, but undeniably curious at translated reveal of the Nif term. He’s ushered to take a seat by the fire, motions robotic as if on auto-pilot while his mind whirs a million miles per hour, settling comfortably with her once again curled on his lap.

“You...You can...you speak Nif?” As if it hasn’t been made clear already, internally chastising himself that of course someone as smart and important as the Prince’s Royal Advisor can. _Idiot_.

“I had attended a few lectures on the subject, yes.” Ignis explains kindly unlike Prompto’s inner scathing remarks. Though he can’t sense anything amiss with the statement, he can’t help but feel the man’s lingering gaze on blue eyes while handed their breakfast. “I think it’d be quite beneficial for our guest if you learned, seeing how she favors you. I may be able to pull up a primer or two for the basics, at least. However, I don’t suspect we’ll be able to uncover her history so easily.”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome. Learning, I mean - wait, not like _you’re_ not awesome, too. Like, y’know, _knowing_. That’s awesome. You’re awesome.” He shuts himself up before he can say anything more by an orange juicebox the child offers him, uncertain if he’d imagined the faint blush dusting the man’s cheeks or not. Probably just from sweating while working so effortlessly hard on yet another perfect meal.

He’s not sure how much more he can voice his boundless appreciation for all that he does, especially cooking. There’s no way the kid’ll go hungry like he did, or forced to resort to unhealthy alternatives before harmful dieting in attempt to fix it. Prompto doesn’t know what kind of magic the Advisor’s worked over her while he was asleep, child nestling against his chest and feeding herself with carefully cut bites of pancake and egg, a complete turnaround of scarfing food off the ground with trembling bare hands.

“You’re really awesome, Ignis. I mean it. Thank you. For this. It’s-”

“Awesome?” Ignis finishes his sentence that most certainly was going to be that for lack of a better word with a slight smile, finishing plating for the other two before taking a seat with a serving for himself and can of Ebony. “I should think you ought know us better by now, if this is ‘awesome’. I can safely say for us all that we don’t judge for origins that cannot be helped, no matter who they may be. I prefer to rate an individual’s merit based on their character rather than where they’re born.”

Prompto knows he means the girl. Of course, because he doesn’t know and if he doesn’t fuck up, won’t ever. The sincerity in his tone, however, dares the blond to hope as he subconsciously fiddles with the leather band before taking a bite of lovingly prepared and healthy breakfast.

He knows what he is.

It doesn’t stop him from wishing, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may recognize the language used :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From despair comes hope and a vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://mimi19art.tumblr.com/post/171398340650/commission-art-for-spitfirerose-a-smol-who
> 
> It was a commission, but I'm still gonna thank MintFoxMimi BECAUSE ALL THE THANKS ARE DESERVED, OH MY GOOOOSH!! Look at these cuties here, aren't they precious? (You should totally commission, too, just saiyan). I don't think I've stopped staring, it's just so pretty. Thank you!!

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to uncover any basic information such as her name.” Ignis apologizes though Prompto doesn’t understand why the Advisor does.

It isn’t his fault, and it certainly isn’t the girl who’s been through more than enough. He definitely can’t blame her for memory loss from all the trauma she’s obviously endured, and instinctively holds her closer as she attempts to take the same bite of pancake that’s been on her fork for the past few minutes, nodding off before catching herself only to repeat the cycle. While cute as it is heartbreaking, Prompto easily uncurls tiny fingers to surrender utensil before setting the plate aside with his. Compared again to last night, the blond’s elated she’s managed to eat as much as she has of half a pancake and few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs mixed with diced peppers, the gunner’s favorite.

“Time for a nap, huh, kiddo?” He murmurs with a tease, smiling at how she nods as if comprehending, more of a droopy action of struggling to stay awake than confirmation, and he tugs the blanket gently to settle her in his arms.

Carding a hand through her hair, he hums his favorite chocobo theme softly even though she’s seconds from sleep anyway and doesn’t need any help in drifting off completely. Safe and snug in her hero’s hold, the young girl reaches with a small hand to grasp his shirt before giving in to sleep.

From behind his can of Ebony, Ignis hides a tender smile while wishing he had the boy’s camera, but settles to commit the scene to memory instead.

* * *

 

Noct emerges from the tent some time later, staggering like a mummy from their tomb and stretching with a full body yawn before catching sight of the two in the corner of his eye. Changing course from camp kitchen counter to join them, he forgoes even his chair often used to snooze a few minutes more. Prompto pauses from absently stroking pale hazel locks to glance up at the Prince, freezing at the rarely serious expression.

“She not sleep well after last night?” Is the first that comes out of his mouth, clearly concerned for their young charge and Prompto loses tension with relief, though the worry’s contagious that the child’s slept more under their care than awake thus far despite the majority of it at nighttime.

“I suspect that both body and mind are still on the mend after strenuous circumstances.” Ignis surmises, putting their unease to rest. “I should think it a good sign on the road to recovery that she feels safe enough in our presence to do so.”

 _Safe around me_ _like I’m a hero_. Prompto keeps the thought to himself, taking pride despite feeling incredibly unworthy of what’s gotta be misplaced trust.

Noct nods with an interested ‘huh’, gaze falling back on the sleeping kid before landing on their abandoned plates of half-eaten food. Dutifully, Ignis rises to presumably take care of the dishes, but the Prince’s already there and surprisingly stepping up.

“I got it.” He volunteers out of the blue, carefully picking them without making so much as a scrape of noise to disturb the girl who couldn’t be any more departed from reality with how she loosely clings to photographer within the bundle of blanket.

Acting like it’s nothing to surprised reactions at odd behavior, Noct averts his gaze in feign interest of the ground while awkwardly returning to his typical spot with serving of breakfast. Iggy’s smiling behind his can of Ebony even as the Prince accidentally shoves a forkful of vegetables into his mouth and swallows before realizing his error with a suppressed gagging fit.

Prompto tries not to laugh as he cautiously reaches over to pat his back, certain his face is only red out of coughing.

* * *

 

“So, what’s our next move?”

“We can’t take on a Hunt, right? At least not now, yeah?”

“Didn’t that one lady ask us to catch toads or something?”

“Sania Yeager’s her name, she’s a biological researcher, it was red frogs, and yeah. Sounds like safe and easy gil with our names on it.” Gladio corrects much to the younger duo’s faces that of course their flirtatious Shield would remember every single detail about the woman they’d encountered other day. “Wouldn’t hurt calling up that Dave guy either. See if his Hunters’ve noticed anything suspicious lately.”

“Agreed. Once compensated for our toadbles, we ought to hop over to Wiz’s Chocobo Post and peruse what they’ve to offer in terms of child’s clothing as well as a suitable pad to spend the night.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. What if she gets separated from us? We don’t know her name, and I don’t wanna keep calling her ‘kiddo’. It’s kinda impersonal, don’tcha think?”

“What? How come we don’t know? Specs?”

“She doesn’t remember.” Ignis responds simply after a moment, conversation delicate to string together much like broken memories. “With patience, time, and care, I’m certain she will. However, I’ve concerns as to _what_ she’ll recall from what we can only assume based off behavioral observations resulting from various forms of stress and trauma. As I said earlier, it’s fortunate to have her trust at all, as fragile as it must be.”

 _Pretty sure she trusts me with her life._ Prompto doesn’t say it, but wonders if they’re all thinking the same. It...kind of makes him happy until he reminds himself that it’s not directed at him, not really.

He’s no hero.

They’re discussing about what should be done if she really does get lost, thinking of temporary names that’ll really only be useful if she responds to them. Gladio teases that Noct shouldn’t have any say after voicing previous desires of wanting to name his chocobo the literal Latin word for ‘fish’, retorting the big guy’s talking awfully big for being named after a flower - which is also _sword,_ Princess. Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose at their bickering, trying to keep composure while thinking of how to best remedy the situation, Astrals forbid it truly occur.

Prompto’s more her last hope than anything.

“Spero.” He finds himself uttering aloud and suddenly everyone’s gone quiet.

The girl’s awake by what’s likely their own faults, staring up at him with those curious crystal blue eyes the widest he’s ever seen. It’s as if the world consists of only them, the guys nothing but background as his eyebrows furrow as if trying to understand what can’t be possible.

“Spero?” Prompto tries again, positive it’s just coincidence she had woken up the same second he’d said it. She nods, and he helplessly glances over at Ignis.

“ _Ec ouin hysa Spero?_ ”

A beat passes, unaware he’d been holding his breath until her head bobs up and down, slow and sure to Advisor. She responds to the name when the blond repeats it, tilting to the side as if awaiting for him to say something else.

“Looks more like Sparrow to me.” Gladio comments in playful resemblance of small size and baby chick-like qualities, smiling softly when the girl squirms in Prompto’s arms to look at the Shield in question. “Pretty fitting with chocobutt here looking after ya like a mother hen.”

“What? I’m not -  _Hey_! My hair does _not_ look like a chocobo butt!”

“Think we can get her to call Prom ‘chocobutt?’”

“Noooooct!”

* * *

 

For once, Prompto’s off the hook in packing up camp, contently preoccupied with watching over Spero doodling in the back of Iggy’s notebook with provided pens of black, blue, and red. The Advisor thinks it’ll help unlock memories within her subconscious, or something to that effect, easier to vent out in artwork than the spoken word. Like how he loses himself in his photography, Prompto figures, setting his mind free to allow captured subjects to reflect his inner thoughts for him. It makes more sense when Ignis does the explaining, observing chef procure some snacks for the road before tucking them away in his bag and putting everything into its’ rightful place to be stowed in the Regalia’s trunk when Gladio returns.

Noct’s on the phone with Dave, surprisingly helping out once again instead of taking the call as an excuse to slack off to let them do all the work. It’s a nice change to see, even if he looks two blinks away from falling asleep mid-conversation that doesn’t appear like they’re gonna get any leads. The Prince shakes his head in apology and thanks the head Hunter for his time before hanging up. There’s nothing out of the ordinary from what the Noct reports back, including how the man had admitted to having his hands full at the moment with one of his top Hunters found dead a few days back but in no need of them to collect the tags like previous times. His partner Nubis is still a worrisome wreck over finding the body, left under the care of a childhood friend.

From what Dave had recanted of Nubis’s graphic tale, there’s no way Spero could’ve been there, if she was even in the area to begin with. Prompto gets the feeling it’ll end up be one of those unsolved mysteries that’s gonna drive him crazy not knowing the unknown, yet satisfied with the end result that’s having the girl safe and sound with them.

With _him_.

Red pen left untouched, the blond sketches up a chocobo, having to bend over the child on his lap to reach the top corner of open book, unable to deny his bubbling excitement of finally getting to see the birds for himself. He’s, like, nine hundred percent sure that Spero’ll love them, too. _Everybody_ loves chocobos. Engrossed in his work, he almost doesn’t catch the soft whisper of his name followed by a gentle tug on his sleeve.

“Aw, you wanna show me what you drew?” He’s touched to have her approval, grinning as she shifts so he can see what she’s been working so diligently on. “This suuuuper adorable little stick girl, that’s gotta be you, right?”

Prompto points from paper and girl to make sure, and Spero nods with a shy smile. It’s then he sees the second figure standing next to her, a tall scribble of thickly lavished black ink like that of full body armor, complete with two dots of blue for eyes.

It’s him.

It’s _not_ him.

It is.

It’s _not_.

She’s gesturing at him, maybe talking. All he hears is white noise, suffocating in nonexistent sound and struggling to breathe.

“ _R - Ranu? Pom toe?”_ He’s scaring her, unaware of just when little hands had clasped around the wristband he’s gripping harder than ever before, knuckles white as a sheet.

Prompto doesn’t understand.

There’s so much he doesn’t understand.

“I - I - I’m _not_ -” _Not what? A monster like them? A hero? Yeah, tell her you’re not the hero she_ ** _needs_** _to believe you are and see how that goes over, you idiot. Stupid. You’re -_

Not thinking, like always.

Prompto snaps the clasps open, winces as always at the heinous barcode that differentiates him from humanity. Makes him unacceptable to society, a reject, branded with a fate worse than being born Nif - but who can say he was really ever _born_ to begin with, brought into this world to be programmed with one sole purpose. He knows what he is. A fucked up lab experiment from what official paperwork his adoptive guardians had neglected to put away one evening before they’d left on yet another business trip. Secure documents hacked, genetic manipulation laboratory reports stolen, photographs snapped in secret of babies suspended in columns of liquid-filled vats of Six knows what.

And _him_ , barcode and all.

Prompto knows what he is. He’s been painfully aware. Anxiously aware, because he knows what the guys’ll think no matter what they’ve said so far. His true identity isn’t some poor, helpless Nif child lost in the woods. He’s a would-be weapon of war, a monster, everything they created him to be. He’s--

“ _Ranu.”_   Spero’s perched on his knees and facing him with a concerning frown, using a finger on each hand to adjust his lips into a smile.

 _Hero_.

Prompto laughs the saddest, most self-deprecating laugh. It’s borderline to a sob, grateful the guys are busy at the Regalia to witness another one of his private breakdowns that isn’t so private this time around.

Six, he’s pathetic.

“You...You’re not gonna understand a word I say.” He wipes his eyes with the back of a hand, flashing a shaky smile despite himself. Taking a breath, another for good measure, and then a third, the blond composes himself, left hand instinctively wrapping around his right wrist before Spero places her own over it in question.

Gods, he’s so, so, so grateful she’s not marred by cruelty, too. She’s got the chance he never had. Prompto isn’t a lot of the things he wishes he could be, but maybe. Maybe he can be.

For her.

“I’m...I’m gonna do my best to be the hero you need me to be, okay? I swear on...on this. My barcode. I vow to you, Spero, that I’m - I’m more than...than I was meant to be. I’ll keep you safe and happy as best I can, I promise.”

He lifts his hand and she traces the ink stripes with a tiny finger. Not disgusted, revolted, or angry. If anything, she looks sad. Probably because he couldn’t keep his shit together. Some hero he claims to be, though he really meant what he said, every single word of it.

“Hey, how about this? I take our picture for you to keep, and I’ll get to hold onto this amazing drawing you made.”

Spero doesn’t seem to mind at all in fact, appearing happy when he carefully tears it free from the notebook to fold and tuck into his camera bag. The guys can’t ever find it. He can’t risk losing everything, can’t stand the idea of being alone again, especially their rejection after he’s worked so hard for so long to prove and earn his place he’s positive he doesn’t belong in despite acceptance.

Using his right, Prompto stretches his arm out for a selfie, ruffling her hair that produces a toothy smile.

The camera flashes, preserving the memory forever as he shows her the image display of them both, a mess of wiped tears and red noses, but smiling. Spero cooes in 'oohs' and 'awes', whispering words that can only be compliments as he indulges in showing her what other visual treasures his memory card contains. Hopefully there’s enough room for all those chocobos.

In the distance, he can hear the guys call for them and he hastily puts the wristband on much to her confusion before scooping her up and over his head for a piggyback ride.

“Can’t keep our friends waiting, right?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom of trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has broke over a thousand hits *and* a hundred kudos.
> 
> That's amazing. I didn't think it'd get close to being this popular, and it isn't over yet.
> 
> Thank you. Really.
> 
> I'm only sorry this chapter's kinda short, ha.

 

 

Noct’s in his seat by the time Prompto and Spero arrive, Gladio and Ignis discussing something before the big guy turns to wave at the girl atop the blond’s shoulders, Advisor looking over them fondly while shutting the trunk.

“Spero will have to sit in the back and be buckled in, preferably between Noct and Gladio.”

“No objections here.” Prompto nods in understanding, completely compliant on the legal laws of the road despite their own lack of using seatbelts. He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her, though unlikely with their driver’s spotless record. “Just make sure Noct doesn’t pull her on the seat top with him.”

“I ain’t grabbing him first when he falls.” Gladio replies with an eyebrow raised in the Prince’s direction as Ignis agrees, royal charge letting out an annoyed huff to tell him how they really feel. “Alright little Sparrow, time to come in for a landing.”

She’s being surprisingly quiet even when retrieved by the Shield, releasing a whimper that all assume is just from the switch over. 

“Hey, ssh. I’ll be right up here, baby.” Prompto assures her with a soft smile, but she doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. It looks like someone’s kicked a puppy or a hundred, and he curses his carsick tendencies banishing him to front passenger.

“Fortunately it’s not that long of a drive.” Ignis adds from the driver’s seat, gunner reluctant as he opens the car door.

“You and mama chocobo’ll be together soon.” The Shield soothes, using a hand to open his own while securely holding tiny child. Spero whimpers again, and he lightly bounces her before bending to set her down in the middle as she squirms to reach out to oblivious hero. “Noct, seatbelt.”

The Prince obeys, reaching over to click the restraint in place.

Spero _screams_.

It’s a chilling, sobbing hitch of Prompto’s name, the loudest she’s ever been. It pierces through his very core like a gunshot, like someone’s taken his heart and blown it to pieces.

The next he knows is that he’s somehow in the back, squeezed between Noct and openly wailing girl and freeing her of the strap without thinking before gathering her in his arms. Spero cries hard into his chest with a deathgrip, breaths near hyperventilating. The guys’ voices are like static in his ears, both deafening and quiet all at once, yet nothing but background noise to the girl’s distressed keening.

He doesn’t want to think about what this means.

He really, really doesn’t want to come to the conclusions they already are.

Prompto rubs her back, whispers promises in her ears that she won’t understand and likely hasn’t the sense to anyway even if she could.

Spero doesn’t calm down, and he feels a grounding grip on his shoulder that can only be the swordsman. It’s not Gladio’s fault, but whatever sick, twisted excuse for a human being that’s scarred an innocent child to be so damn scared of a fucking seatbelt. The big brother of a Shield’s coaxed her fears away before, he should be able to do it again as much as Prompto loathes to hand her off with how she clutches him like no tomorrow. Taking one look at the hurt, kindhearted Shield has her start sobbing all over again, cowering against dampened shirt with a hiccup.

“Ig-Ignis, _help_.” Prompto pleads, doesn’t need to clarify what he means as he glances up to Advisor staring at them, clearly shaken by both the girl’s reaction and undoubtedly comprehending the frantic words between cries.

To see Ignis so...so _vulnerable_ , it’s just as unsettling as unspoken implications.

Noct’s worse, frozen into place as if struck across the face.

 _“Ed’c ugyo, oui’na cyva. Zicd pnaydra,_ Spero _,_ ” He doesn’t ask for a translation he can easily guess, repeating the short Nif phrases to the best of his ability. The mimicked pronunciations are awful, flow of simple sentences choppy with uncertainty, clearly foreign on his tongue despite birthright. _“e’ja kud oui._ ”

Prompto doesn’t stop trying, however, sinking into the cushions with relief as tiny frame taut with tension slowly but surely relaxes.

“ _Ouin Ranu ec nekrd rana._ ”

_Your Hero is right here._

Spero goes impossibly still, peering up at him with bloodshot blue. Her bottom lip trembles as much as his does, shaking terribly as she shifts in his hold to settle her knees atop his. Frail arms wrap around his neck into the strongest hug she can manage, breaths steadily stuttering against his neck.

They stay like that for some time, Prompto quietly murmuring the phrases while absently stroking small, calming circles on the girl’s little back before carding up into slightly tangled locks.

It’s too quiet, suddenly hyper aware of present company watching.

“So, um, yeah. Seatbelt’s not happening.” He licks chapped lips before swallowing hard, ignoring how wet his eyes and not daring to move a limb to wipe his own face. “I’m fine with - with sitting here. Carsickness’ll just have to deal.”

Gladio doesn’t complain in the slightest to taking the passenger spot despite past grumblings that he’s much too big and without space to stretch his legs. Prompto catches him asking the Advisor something after he takes the seat, looking over his shoulder with mournful amber reflecting regret.

“ _E’s cunno_ , Spero.” The gentle giant murmurs, earning an inquisitive turn of her head with a teeny sniffle.

“That’s ‘sorry’, right?” Noctis finally speaks up, leaning to take the pocket pack of tissues Ignis offers. “ _E’s cunno_ , ah, too, Spero. Really, really _cunno_.”

She shies away when he reaches over to hand it over to her hero, blond thanking him quietly before getting to work on wiping her face clean of tears and snot. Whining much like a normal child, Prompto can’t help a tiny smile at how her nose crinkles and little lips pout at tender touch of tissue. Booping that cute button nose gets a small giggle that evolves into a precious laugh when he breaks into a successful victory fanfare at cheering her up. He misses the swell of relief that washes over the guilt-ridden trio, too entirely focused on enthusiastically repeating the tune while tapping her nose to each fast beat.

Taking the bursts of giggles as a sign that all is well, Ignis starts up the engine. Unleashing a soft gasp, Spero cautiously crawls off her hero’s lap to peer out as they pull away from the Haven, in awe of the gradual change of scenery with nimble fingers gripping the top the door before sticking her head out to look further. His camera’s in his hands before he knows it, taking a shot of the first carefree smile he’s seen light her face.

“Prompto.”

“Huh? Oh, right, my bad.” Setting the camera aside, Prompto scoots closer to entranced child, not wanting to pull her away from the breathtaking view. She squeaks in surprise at the contact, resisting for only a second until realizing it’s only her hero and content to settle atop his lap to continue watching the outside world leisurely go by. “Hey, how ‘bout we take some pics?”

“Couple lessons from our master photographer here and you’ll be a pro in no time.” Gladio rumbles from up front while re-reading the same paragraph in his novel for the fifth time, checking out the rearview mirror between sentences. The rest chime in their agreement, and Prompto prays they don’t see how red his face gets as he hides in hazel fluff like that of a baby bird’s down, carefully clutching device so she can view the display screen.

There’s a lot he could teach her about everything he learned all by himself from online tutorials and personal experience, to lining up the subject just right and finding the perfect lighting, but sticks to simple pointing and shooting. Spero’s happy, and that’s all that matters even though a lot of them are blurred shots of grass, treelines, the occasional garula herd, and swamp land. Prompto’s proud of each and every one like they’re works of art. If they had a fridge, they’d totally be hanging up there with gold stickers and rainbow magnets. At least, that’s what he’d always read in books and seen in movies of loving parents doting on their child’s hard work--except he’s totally the awesome older brother instead, as inexperienced as he is.

* * *

 

Noct observes the pair from his perch above the seats, taking a pleased note of how genuinely happy his best friend is. No forced laughter and hollow smiles flickering like a dying candle, but now a roaring fireplace bringing warmth to all it touches with melodious snorting laughs and bright smiles so wide his gorgeous blue eyes crinkle and glitter like galaxies in the night--Okay, so on an unrelated note, he might have a _little_ crush on Prompto, but who wouldn’t. The point he’d been _trying_ to make before getting sidetracked is how great a positive influence Spero’s been on him, and Prompto for the girl. She’s doing a better job than he ever could have and had been in his own way. Without Prompto’s presence, he severely doubts the kid would’ve opened up at all. Like him in a way, until the blond had come into his life and brought light to the darkest of days. So the little crush is a massive one, but he’s managing it. 

Managing about as well as a fish on a hook, helpless and hopeless while reeled in by those beautiful sky blue eyes, freckle constellations, and crooked smirk.

“Hey, Noct. Noct. You awake?”

“ _Noc?_ ”

“Wha?” The Prince’s pulled out of his thoughts by gentle tugging on his pant leg, surprised to see Spero as the source with a timid whisper of what sounds like his name. “What’s up?”

“You.” Prompto replies automatically, flashing an easy grin.

“Ha. Funny.” Noct snorts, unable to help a smile himself as he glances down at curious crystal blue. “The view’s way better up here, chocochick. You wanna see?”

He offers a hand, but quicky retracts after a beat.

“Hang on. You trust me, Prom?”

“With my life, dude. Wait, pretty sure that’s supposed to be the other way around with the whole Crownsguard thing, but yeah. Trust you with hers, too.”

“Trust you, too, Prompto.” To have that means more than anything in the world to both, averting gazes of blushed cheeks as Noct places his hand back within Spero’s grasp.

After the event of earlier, he doesn’t expect her to take it.

Spero does all on her own, and he has no idea why she trusts him at all. She shouldn’t, really, given their heritage, and neither should he.

But she’s just a kid, and him far from anything princely.

“Do be careful.”

“Remember what I told ya.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noct balances carefully on the edge, bending to cautiously lift her securely on his lap and wrapped in his arms before Prompto has any second thoughts and a heart attack at the slightest misstep.

She doesn’t like being up there.

She _loves_ it.

The wind tousles her hair when looking from side to side at the promised better view of the landscape, taking it all in with soft “ooo”s of noise and awed whispers of Nif words he doesn’t understand. Spero’s happy though, and to see her happy after all the shit they’ve seen, it’s nothing short of contagious. The sound of Prompto’s camera snapping away is near nonexistent to him simply enjoying the moment of peace and freedom, letting his eyes slip shut as the girl does the same.

Nothing but the wind in their hair, the sun in their faces, and the nostalgic hum of his late father’s car out on the open road.

No fears or worries.

He can’t get enough of it now, the last connection to the memories of a past that weren’t then, either.

“Hey? Noct? I can take her back, if you want?”

“Huh?”

“Think she fell asleep. If you’re not comfortable, I can -”

“What? Oh, no. This’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, buddy. Whatever you want, but I’m here, yeah? If you need me.”

The pack of tissues is gently pressed into his hand, unaware of the tears that’d been trailing down his cheeks all the while.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun with frogs.

The Regalia comes to a smooth halt at the parking space, Ignis announcing their arrival softly for snoozing occupants before quietly exiting the vehicle. Gladio gets out with a stretch, massaging stiff leg muscles with a yawn before tapping dozing blond on the shoulder.

“Hnn? We’re here already?”

“Ig said it was close.” The Shield reminds him, ruffling disheveled hair in passing to the trunk much to his whining. “Wake the Princesses, would ya?”

Prompto almost doesn’t want to, tempted to sneak a photo of just how utterly adorable Spero is curled up on Noct’s lap, both peacefully asleep and gone to the world. It’s a sweet, innocent look that isn’t worn nearly enough, but a treasure to witness however brief.

If only a picture could make it last longer.

“Wakey wakey, guys. We got frogs to find. C’mon, it’ll be greaaat~”

Immediately, the sleeping Prince grumbles in protest at being disturbed, waving a dismissive hand as coordinated as he is awake before flopping back around waking child who isn’t nearly as grumpy. Rubbing beneath her eyes, the young girl blinks in confusion while looking around, clearly lost in unfamiliar surroundings and starting to squirm with clear signs of panic bubbling beneath the surface.

“Spero? You okay, kidd- _oof_!” Prompto quickly secures an arm around the sudden Spero dropping down onto his lap without warning and latching on. “Whoa, I gotcha.”

Mumbling something against his chest, her hero lessens his grip as her body quivers, expecting to see tears when little head pops up to look at him.

She’s _laughing_.

“Think falling on me is funny, huh?” He asks with a mischievous grin, using free hand to tickle her side and she squeals in a burst of giggles in feebly trying to escape. “I’m not that strong, y’know! One of these times you’re really gonna hurt me, and then what’re we gonna do? You’re lucky you’re cuter than a chocobo chick!”

“‘Cuter than a chocobo chick’, says the chocobo fanatic.” Noct questions in disbelief, smirking with a yawn while observing the impossibly adorable pair. Spero breaks free long enough to peer up at him with those sparkling sky blue gems, and he nods slowly as if considering the fact. “Yep, sure are cute. Might have to take a closer look, though.”

“What, you gonna fall for me, too?” Prompto teases back, taking a second to long to process exactly what he’d just said as he swears to each and every Astral that Noct’s blushing behind the hand he coughs behind. “ _On_ me! I meant _on_ me - wait, nononono, that sounds _worse_! Like-Like, we’re gonna make a Spero sandwich, fall _on_ me!”

“You kids getting out or what?”

“I’d prefer us to be at Wiz’s as soon as possible, if you don’t mind.”

“C-Coming!”

* * *

 

The Alstor Slough is just as they remember it. Full of mucky swamp water and ample amount of rocky crevices for their target specimens to hide, promising the hunt won’t be as simple as they hope, or as clean. Gladio obviously doesn’t seem to mind getting down and dirty, nor Spero who gleefully splashes into a puddle while clasping Prompto’s hand with both of hers. It’s no wonder they’d found her so filthy, Ignis pinching the bridge of his nose as the blond looks torn between encouraging in making a mess and being the responsible adult in setting an example of cleanliness, as accident-prone as he is.

Knowing full well it to be a lost cause, the Advisor is certain there will be plenty of laundry to do once the day’s done, but hopefully with fresh, appropriately sized garments to change into for the girl. Preceded, of course, by the scrubbing of a lifetime in a hot bath, as long as it takes until every speck of dirt is but a distant memory. The others will simply have to wait their turn.

Noct breaks from their tight formation, drawn by the sound of croaking somewhere up in a gathering of stone.

“Here’s one down.” He emerges victorious with red frog fussing in his tight grip, cautiously stepping down to where Gladio awaits with empty cooler designated as holding container. “Four to go, right?”

“As was requested we collect, yes.” Ignis confirms, Prince positive it’ll be easy. Spero kneels before the cooler to get a better look at grumpy amphibian. It’ll help, after all, to have them all look as he explains their search and if she can help look for red frogs. She nods, happy to be of assistance, and he’s never one to miss out on making a moment educational, to teach something new. “ _Lyh oui cyo_ ‘frog’, Spero?”

Her head tilts to the side, mouthing the word before finally speaking.

“Fuck?”

Gladio loses it the second the swear leaves her lips, roaring with laughter as Noct doesn’t even bother trying to hide his, cackling like mad.

“Ignis Scientia, did you just teach this sweet little cinnamon roll _the f-word_?” Prompto gasps incredulously, gloved hands dramatically flying upwards over his mouth to cover traitorous giggling.

“I assure you that was not my intention!” The Advisor swears it, flustered in adjusting his glasses in a clearly embarrassed fashion, near slipping off his face when Spero repeats the curse in her confusion as to what’s so funny.

She doesn’t understand why her hero breaks out into another round of laughter so hard that there’s tears in his eyes, wiping them quickly away with the back of a hand.

“Oh my Gods, this is amazing, but Spero, you _can’t_ say that, oh my Gods, nooooo.”

“‘Frog’, darling. It’s ‘ _frog’_.” Iggy’s composure is cracked, unable to help a chuckle at how innocent and precious she is in trying her best to say the word to the best of her ability despite their collective laughter that certainly cannot be helping matters.

“Frauge?” It’s the best they’re going to get out of her, hero smiling with praise when looking hopefully up at him. He kneels down to her level, ruffling her hair.

“Let’s go hunt us some frauges!”

* * *

 

Spero stays close to Prompto as they venture out nearby, climbing atop small piles of rock to inspect for slippery subjects.

“Frauge?” Her hero asks after a moment, and the girl shakes her head, hopping back down onto the muddy shore with a splash. Not slowly but definitely surely are his spare clothes becoming a mess, yet he doesn’t mind for once. “Least you’re enjoying yourself, huh? Gonna have a serious bath time when we’re all done, though. When’s the last time you had one?”

The child doesn’t answer, of course. He really should ask Ignis, or see if there’s some translating app on his phone - if it’d even be accurate. That’d really help things, accidentally teaching her another Lucian swear or insulting her in Nif. There’s no way Iggy’s going to live that one down, but it’d been refreshing to hear him laugh despite the situation.

Is it weird to think the Advisor as cute, on top of everything else? Not like an amazingly talented guy could ever have feelings for a klutzy plebeian like him, anyway.

Or a Prince.

“Frauge!” Spero’s shout draws him out of his thoughts, quickly tiptoeing on barefeet to sneak up on unsuspecting red frog that lazily hops along unaware. She trips and he about has a heart attack when she tumbles over with arms outstretched to snatch the squirmy subject.

She misses by a few inches, scrambling to get back up before it gets out of range.

“ _Ranu!”_

In all honesty, Prompto doesn’t like gross, slimy things. They rank about as high as his dislike of insects, from creepy crawlies to airbourne buzzers that bite and sting. But for Spero, it doesn’t matter as he dramatically howls for vengeance on all frogkind for felling the young maiden, scooping up the frog who just hangs in his hold as if it could care less. He kinda feels like throwing up, insides all squeamish like the chill, croaking amphibian that makes his fingers move with each ribbit.

One look at her face, however, and it’s all worth it.

Because in that moment, he’s her _hero_. It reflects in her sparkling eyes, her wide smile with missing baby teeth, her hands clapping, and how she hops on little feet because she’s so happy and excited all because he did something as simple as catch a frog.

To her, he’s everything he wishes he could be, but isn’t.

It won’t stop him from trying, though, to prove that he can be.

* * *

 

There’s three red frogs in the cooler when Ignis decides they’d best take a break. Normally they wouldn’t after such a short time being that they’re all strong, healthy young adults, but they’ve a child in their company and a slightly malnourished one at that. From the other cooler does he retrieve the prepared snacks from earlier, setting them aside before passing around sanitizer and napkins to wipe grubby hands clean.

“Hey, Sparrow.” Gladio holds something behind his back, little girl still wary around him after the car incident. It’s kind of sad to see, given how easily she’d grown to trust the gentle giant after such a short time. “Found something for ya.”

It’s a flower, dozens upon dozens of delicate white petals with a yellow center.

The Shield doesn’t get through explaining in rehearsed Nif what kind it is or how he hopes it’ll make her feel better because he really does feel like shit for upsetting her unintentionally and he’s really sorry about that. It’s clear all is forgiven as she leaves Prompto’s side to embrace him as best scrawny arms can across massive bulk. He’s careful as he lowers himself to his knees, tucking hazel hair behind an ear before setting lily within. Spero lightly touches the petals as soft as feathers, smiling with a wet gleam in her eyes before looking over to equally touched Advisor at the kind gesture.

“ _Dryhg oui?”_

“‘Thank you.’”

“ _Th-Thanke y‘oo.”_

“Anytime, kiddo.” Gladio allows himself to be pulled into another tiny yet mighty hug.

“Hey, I got something for her, too.” Noct offers once they’ve parted and Spero back to Prompto’s side.

“I trust it’s not those carrot sticks.” Ignis sees right through his plan as plain as day. “As... _thoughtful_ as that is, it’d be wise to set a good example such as eating one’s vegetables.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Noct. Show her how it’s done.” The blond teases, not afraid to stoop so low as to collect blackmailing evidence of picky Prince consuming something so loathsome as a baby carrot. Spero, lost in the conversation, just munches on an apple slice while curiously watching him like they’re all focused on.

“You guys...are the _worst_.”

Noct eats not only one, but _two_ under the claim that Spero had blinked the first time. It goes to show how much he cares for her, even as he coughs and gags before downing a whole water bottle to rid his palette of the disgusting taste. Thinking he’s upset there’s not any more, she innocently offers the last of hers as Prompto poorly stifles a fit of laughter while patting Noct’s back.

He eats it, too, just to make her happy, unaware of his Advisor’s concealed smirk of discovering the secret weapon to finally thwart vegetable-free diet.

Having mercy, the blond decides to change the subject to one of his favorites, pulling out his phone to set up an image search.

“So, we’re gonna see chocobos later. Bet you’ll love ‘em. Everybody does. They’ve got these yellow feathers that stick up -”

“Like your hair.”

“ _Not_ like my hair. At all.” Prompto corrects with a grumpy frown that melts away into a warm smile at sight of cute, fluffy chocobos. “See? Cute, huh? These’re chocobos.”

Spero agrees right away, enamored by scrolling pictures of chicks snuggling in a cozy pile to riders atop fully grown birds.

“ _Cho’bos?”_ She points at the images, and Prompto nods with a grin. Her finger then moves up to his similar hairstyle. “ _Cho’bo!”_

“Spero, no!”

“Spero, yes!”

She just laughs, completely oblivious as to why he sulks, Prompto certain the guys won’t let him live this down. At all. The big guy ruffles his metaphorical feathers with a hand, teasing yet again what a mother chocobo hen he is over the girl as he makes sure she drinks enough water before splitting off into finding the last two frogs.

Neither hears the Imperial dropship until it is too late.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very lovely Skitters doodled a fan art of our favorite hero and his happy sacrifice. I *might* have cried, but fair is fair for all the tears I've caused you. Thank you so much <3333 It's actually the first art I've ever gotten for a fic, so I was kinda emotional, haha ;^;
> 
> http://weapons-grade-spork.tumblr.com/post/171972357141/the-soulless-mt-remembers-the-scientists-calling
> 
> Thank you for all for your support <3

 

The first bullet grazes Prompto’s right shoulder.

The second shell nicks his side as he instinctively twists to the left, Quicksilver materializing in a flash of crystalline blue while grabbing Spero’s arm with grip tight enough to bruise.

The third fires just over his head, mentally pinpointing the source of incoming MT sniperfire before ducking just in time, shoving child behind cover of boulders first before diving after, girl shielded protectively by battered body while checking over for any injuries on her trembling frame. In the back of Prompto’s mind can he hear her heartbreaking hysterics, wanting nothing more than to calm her but helpless against deadly combatants approaching fast, catching sight of the last of a full brigade drop from hovering enemy airship. His sharpshooter eyes spy at least a dozen ambushing troopers armed to the teeth, and from eons away does he hear himself shout a warning for the guys if the chaotic gunfire hasn’t tipped them off yet wherever they are.

Or Spero’s crying for that matter, young girl wailing at the top of her lungs.

“Just stay down.” Her hero pleads, not needing to ask for how she’s pressed up so small against stone. Just moments ago she was all carefree smiles and adorable giggling, now reduced to nothing but fearful quivering and shaking sobs in reliving trauma that’s no doubt the fuel of ruthless nightmares. Frantically, Spero keeps repeating a word he doesn’t know between whimpers, but can venture a guess. “I’m here. They’re not gonna get you. No one’s going to hurt you, I - _shit!_ ”

Bits of rock blast inches from his face when peering over to return fire, child shrieking as pieces of debris rain down, gunner distantly aware of hot warmth dripping down cut cheek when safeguarding her from further harm. The retaliating satisfaction of headshotting an axeman is cold and empty, soldier collapsing in a heap as its comrades merely march over its corpse, completely unaffected as ground is gained.

Prompto hates fighting MTs the most.

Deep down, he’s no different and he knows it, right wrist burning with each well-aimed Piercer shot from yards away. They’re all nothing but cloned monsters created by some mad scientist, but he’ll be damned if anything happens to Spero, not if her hero can help it. Mind racing a million miles per precious second, he tries to recall the soothing phrases Ignis had spoke just hours before, cursing himself for not having thought to commit them to memory right then. They’re sitting ducks the longer they stay in this spot, sure to be overrun by MTs that just keep on coming no matter how many the gunner cripples with rapid fire to lower appendages and viciously accurate headshots.

He’s gotta get her the hell out, and fast.

Biting his bottom lip, Prompto can practically feel a metal casing burn red-hot past an ear, near disorientating as he drops to his knees. There’s no time to waste, Spero gasping through hitching cries at the touch of a hand landing on her hair, red-rimmed skies so wide with unspeakable horror at seeing her hero bleeding. Without hesitating, he retrieves the last potion he’d be saving for emergencies, wishing he’d spoken up for once when Advisor would inquire if he needed more after burning through so many like the fragile yet deadly gunslinger he is. Slipping the vial in her hands, Prompto winces while untying bandana to wipe scraped cheek before wrapping around bloody shoulder. It doesn’t help make her feel any better, hiccuping before squeezing eyes shut at another round of enemy fire ineffectively exploding against sturdy cover.

“I’m gonna draw them away. You stay here, okay? Stay?” The universal sign of pointing to stay put has Spero shaking her head, babbling in Nif while trying to wrap skinny arms around injured torso. “No, no. You gotta stay.”

 _“No. Y’oo staye!”_ The girl desperately begs, muffled by weeping into his shirt as she clings despite knowing deep down that he can’t.

Just like before.

Prompto only hopes the guys will get here soon as he peels persistent limbs off, managing the weakest of strained smiles before ruffling her hair, mindful of Gladio’s gifted lily. Little lip wobbling, the child removes the flower from behind tucked ear, placing the blossom in his hands before carefully curling fingers over.

“With this lucky charm from my lucky charm, there’s no way I’ll lose.” Her hero thanks her, mirroring its previous position into his own hair that doesn’t bring so much as a ghost of a smile or giggle. He can’t blame her, certain to drown within those soulful orbs overflowing with pained sorrow that should never exist on a child so young. “Hey, hey. I’ll come back for you, chocobean. I promise.”

Whether Spero understands or not, Prompto no longer has the luxury of time to make certain she knows just how much he really means it. There’s been only a few moments in his life where he’s selflessly sacrificed everything for one person, dangerously overworking himself for the simple goal of making friends and finally having a sense of belonging - stretchmarks and leather band proofs of his accomplishments despite self-repulsion. This time, however, he cannot allow himself to be so reckless to his well-being, not with young girl relying on him to make it back safely.

Prompto takes a breath, aims, and fires over the heads of soulless soldiers, Starshell buying him few minutes to sprint for the next available cover of short rise of earth. He doesn’t make it, boot slipping on slick earth as he tumbles forward without grace to nimbly recover by usual somersault.

 _Come on, keep it together!_ The blond scolds, biting lip to bring focus to that pain rather than his entire being that bleeds. _Get up, get - oh, shi-!_

The world’s at a standstill when determined blue eyes check in on luminous distraction still blessedly crackling away, the Empire’s small infantry all stunned save for the unaffected assassin unit poised to strike him down with blade raised upwards. Everything moves into slow motion, frames freezing before painstakingly advancing into the next. Prompto rolls just as deadly weapon slowly, slowly inches closer, aiming right for adrenaline pumping heart that won’t evade in time and he knows it. In the splitting seconds lasting a lifetime that’ll soon come to an end, he uselessly makes the move to block with Quicksilver in a last ditch effort to save his doomed skin.

Prompto closes his eyes.

Metal clangs upon metal, ringing his ears as something pulls at an arm to drag him away followed shortly after by healing touch of a hi-potion that prompts his eyes opened in confusion. The Advisor crouches just over him, dagger in hand. Gladio stands tall even while power struggling against resilient machine, greatsword clashing once more to slash across near-impenetrable armor.

“Take Spero to the Regalia.” Is all Ignis says, tone clipped as he rises to stand with toss of dagger embedding itself within the assassin’s helm, sparks pouring forth as the MT crumples on swampy ground. The Shield grumbles about having had that one, but takes twisted delight of the many more Imperial cronies he can finally have vengeance for the child’s suffering, spotting Noctis warping into the fray. It won’t be close to enough to quench his rage, but it’s a start.

“We’ve got ya covered. Get a move on, Blondie.”

Prompto doesn’t need to be told twice - _thrice_ -, scrambling to his feet with thanks that won’t ever come close, blinking past tears with a nod they don’t see. It feels as though he’s floating, so grateful for friends that’ve saved his ass for what’s gotta be the hundredth time now, making a run for right where he’d left her. The sensation soon drops like deadweight, heart plummeting after flying so freely only to crash and burn all the way to the earth’s core.

Spero’s _gone_.

She’s gone, _she’s gone,_ **_she’s gone._ **

The runner breaks into a mad dash for the vehicle parked only thirty yards away, slipping and sliding and picking himself back up with despairing hope to each and every Astral that the girl will be there already, safe and sound in the best hiding place for her. Spero’s a smart kid by cruel lessons of survival or death, she _must_ be thinking far more rationally than her hero is because Prompto doesn’t know what he’ll do if she isn’t.

She’s not there.

Not tucked between seats, curled into a ball in cowering fear.

Not pressed beneath, squeezed between sharp metal and unforgiving gravel.

Not even hidden away in the trunk as if she’d been able to find a way inside.

Spero isn’t _here_.

He’s going to be sick.

What the hell was he thinking leaving her on her own like that, like whoever abandoned the _child_ in the first place, and in the middle of an _ambush_ after literally just _vowing his life_ to _protect_ her. How stupid is - Prompto doesn’t need to answer what he already knows, proved by endless evidence of his idiotic self. Sweating and panting from physical exertion of rushing over combined with anxious panic that multiplies for every second her whereabouts remain unknown, the shitty excuse for a so-called hero reins it in, bottling it away like he does with everything else.

He needs to focus.

First thing’s first, he’s gotta find Spero. She’s likely still out there, somewhere, _needing_ him. Believing in him, her hero. Once she’s safe and sound, he can have all the mental breakdowns he wants to his poor heart’s content - after apologizing profusely, of course, that he obviously can’t handle being the hero he wasn’t manufactured in some factory to be. The guys should know, too. Two birds with one stone and all that. It’s naive to wish any of them will still want him around, holding onto the only shred of hope that’s waiting for a hero to come to her rescue, no matter his origins.

Arming himself with Quicksilver, Prompto runs back into the swampland turned battlefield.

 

* * *

 

It’s nothing short of a massacre.

Hollow husks of MT corpses are haphazardly strewn about in hacked pieces and smoky remnants of Noct’s most powerful magic, exposed wiring disintegrating under sunlight along with oily black bubbles evaporating into nothingness. The scene’s no different than any other time they’d taken on the Imperial’s relentless forces of militarized machines, and neither is the twisting of Prompto’s gut at the acidic stench of it all. Retracing steps while calling out her name, he’s mindful of each hurried footfall into the decaying graveyard that’ll eventually melt away until as if never existing to begin with. He would’ve been one of them, easily could’ve if not spared by a kind hearted Lucian spy who had thought him worth saving out of the millions upon millions of others.

He gulps, lump heavy in constricting throat as he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts even louder, gun out and ready to eliminate any remaining threats should the guys have missed any. Being somewhat responsible, he knows he should call or text to update them on the situation, unsure of where they’ve gone, but the girl remains top priority. He feels enough a failure as is.

“Spero! Where are you?” Prompto yells, resisting the urge to bite his lip at unsettling silence. The tears are far harder to hold back. ”Spero!”

Where is she.

 _Where is she_.

**_Where is -_ **

“Ranu!”

The breath he’d been holding catches in his throat and he chokes through tears already spilling forth. Turning on swaying heels while simultaneously falling to his knees, the young girl barrels towards him with nimble arms outstretched. The next Prompto knows is that he’s about knocked backwards at fierce collision, but has never cared less in his life as he buries suspiciously damp face into muddied locks, squeezing her tight to his heart despite dirt. Spero blubbers against his chest, back hitching with sobs and nearly forgetting to breathe until gulping for air only to start up again before he pulls back just enough to attempt a glance at her. The blond croons to the best of fractured ability, but all it takes is a peek up at him for her to start crying all over again.

“ _E’scunnoRanue’scunnocunnocunno -”_

“‘Cunno?’” Prompto echoes, and she squirms in his arms as if trying to break free while refusing to meet his gaze. “That’s... _you’re_ sorry? Do you...Do you think I’m-I’m _mad_ at you?”

The only one he’s angry with is himself, on top of immense guilt that keeps piling for every tear that drips from averting azure as she sniffles.

“Oh, nonono, sweet chocobean, no. You were good, you did the right thing. How can I be mad at you for that? Oh, Spero. Spero, no.” He gently gathers pliable figure comfortably in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. “ _I’m cunno_. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I should’ve thought of something else. Ranu’s cunno, Spero.”

Her little head shakes insistently, making eye-contact for just a second before shifting to point at bloodied bandana on shoulder with a whimper.

“What? Is that why you’re sorry - cunno?” Prompto asks softly, relieved just a bit when she nods in understanding. Six, is she far more intelligent and courageous than he’ll ever be. Carefully, he unties the fabric scrap to reveal healed flesh and faint scarring, her relief instantaneous. “Iggy took care of it, see? I’m okay. You’re o - Oh, fuck. You’re bleeding.”

Now that he gets a better look, she’s covered in scrapes resulting from wherever she’d hidden herself away until danger had passed and dutifully remained until hero returned for her. Spero tilts her head, uncertain of what frogs have to do with the moment as he finds the potion stowed away in shorts’ pocket. With great care does he crush vial over minor injuries, releasing a great sigh when healing magic sparkles over abrasions before disappearing like new.

“There, that’s better, huh?” Managing a weak smile, Prompto ruffles her hair that earns a tiny one in return before remembering Gladio’s gifted lily residing in his own. “Hey, I think this belongs to you.”

Both become just a little bit stronger as he tucks lilypad blossom back behind her ear.

“Bet the guys are worried sick over you, too. Let’s get out of here - this place’s kinda giving me the creeps.” He doesn’t make the move to get up quite yet, however, wiping his face with the back of a hand. “After chocobos, there’s...something I need to tell you. All of you. I-I think it’s going to be okay.”

“ _C-Cho’bos?”_

“Of course that’s what you got out of that.” Prompto snorts despite himself, smirking while tousling hazel locks that breaks little smile into a beaming grin and giggle as he nods that yes, there’ll be cho’bos. “We can ride our chocobos all -”

A loud crash interrupts, metal upon hollow metal, and for a moment he thinks it to be the guys’ having finally come looking for them.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Spero _screams_ , easily breaking free from stunned hold of heroic sharpshooter when concerned ocean blue whips around to locate what’s got her so terrified to where she’s hiding behind him in near hysterics with that same word.

“ _S-Suhcdan_!” Prompto still doesn’t understand what it means, but gets a pretty good idea once he spots the source of her outburst.

It’s...indescribable to anything but ‘monster’, and even that doesn’t even begin to cover what the thing is. _Was_. Prompto knows damn well what it _was_ , the Empire’s emblems clear as day on shattered MT armor that’s seen far better days, exposed gashes weeping with an abnormal amount of daemon blood that boils beneath unforgiving sun as it moves ever-so-slowly. Each step is a challenge, hindered greatly by slain comrades littered over the clearing, sickening trooper seeming oblivious as it shambles forward, limping heavily as if sure to collapse at any moment for how it sways no more than a leaf to the mercy of a windstorm despite struggling with heavily armored mass. Daemonesque appendages protrude from out of its melded helm like that of anak horns, twisted by darkness and setting it further off balance as if unaccustomed to such weight. Yet, the MT keeps its gaze steady, never wavering.

Prompto isn’t certain if those could be considered as its eyes any longer, typical glow of red snuffed out by black on its bloodless face of white save for webbing of veins. The tight line of its lips twitches ever slightly, more of the thick substance dribbling past its chin before pooling down drenched metal all the way to its throbbing core. The daemonic MT is armed with rifle fused together with what was its right arm, Prompto dimly aware of shared dominant hand, but makes no move to raise deadly weapon as it practically drags itself towards them on its one good leg that really isn’t.

He should be doing something to stop them before they get too close.

Spero’s shivering and crying, scared out of her wits, and yet.

Yet all Prompto can do is stare at this pitiful, pitiful thing that barely shares his facial features for all the chaotic corruption caused by cruel creators. This is what will become of him, he _knows_ it, an inescapable fate that’s the cause of all his recurring nightmares where the guys uncover his secret and he transforms into the revolting monster he was always meant to be.

The soulless machine reaches its left arm out as it falters forward, stretching downwards to where they kneel but a few yards that must feel as though leagues away. The girl hitches a sob, and its mouth opens with a flood of oily fluid, releasing a sound that’s more machine than human, hoarse and wet through the choking black.

He doesn’t understand, if it’s trying to communicate at all if able.

It doesn’t stop.

Prompto wishes it would, Spero’s cries only escalating at the horrifying sight as blood weeps from dark, surely sightless eyes.

He has to. Has to make it stop.

Numbly, the blond reaches for Quicksilver left abandoned at his side in replacement of blessedly alive child, but gloved fingers grasp at empty air, seeing nothing but swampy earth when glancing over.

Spero holds the gun.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger.

_"E fuh’d mad oui rind res!_ ” The child howls with a battle cry, weapon shaky in hands that tremble like leaves, rising to unsteady feet and nearly tripping in haste.

“Spero, no! Stay! Stay back!” Prompto shouts more than acts, weakly lunging for purchase of oversized shirt while paralyzingly conscious of his gun she clutches like a lifeline. Neither is effective as she steps out of his reach as though deaf to his pleas and immune to his very existence.

 _“Drec djsa E’mm bnudald oui, Ranu!”_ Spero is who stands between hero and monster, protectively positioned before him and appearing ever as intimidating as a frightened yet determined seven year-old can. Her knees knock together as she bites down on wobbling lip that doesn’t cease despite chomping hard enough to draw blood if not careful, tears streaming freely down dirty cheeks. Still, the girl stands tall even as her body language screams of cowardice that wants to run away and hide.

Spero holds the gun, fingers twitching over the trigger, and aims right where the monster’s heart would be if it had one. The daemon beast halts its advancements as if frozen into place just like Prompto, all eyes on the child and helpless to stop when so easily able to overpower a young girl with weapon that belongs in her hands as much as the extremely evident turmoil that radiates off her like a nuclear blast.

He doesn’t understand why the corrupted MT isn’t attacking.

They’re cold-hearted and ruthless to the core, killing machines that don’t give a damn about whoever lands in their line of sight. Prompto’s reminded every time they’ve been ambushed and assaulted by the mechanic monsters of Niflheim’s mass-produced armies, of horrific stories plastering front pages of Insomnia’s destruction from few who survived while so many were mowed down by MT bullets, of how much his wrist burned when the guys heard reports on every broadcasting station and social media. One kid so small and weak like her should be nothing, armed or not, taken out without so much a second thought - not like they think to begin with, programmed only to serve and kill, living and dying by the barcode branded on wrists like cattle.

Spero should be dead by now, and Prompto next.

But they aren’t, because the corrupted MT _isn’t attacking_.

Prompto should retrieve Quicksilver while there’s still a chance and end the thing’s pitiful existence that he shouldn’t be pitying before the malfunctioning unit changes its mind from just standing there. Staring. Doing nothing but sluggishly bleeding black and baking under direct sunlight. The traumatized girl screeches the phrases again, gun unsteady as is her pose, shifting on barefeet to try to keep wavering composure still as she lines up the easy shot once more.

Still nothing.

“ _Oui’na y suhcdan!_ ”

The paralysis spell shatters as the daemonic gunner is spurred back into action, taking but a small step forward that nearly has it fall over, left arm inching away from the girl and back to its side. Spero whimpers aloud to each minuscule movement that takes a further toll to dwindling sanity, fueling the fear at wits’ end, like a child terrified of completing a simple task that’s harrowing from their perspective. It never once raises its gun-infused right limb, the left continuing to move towards its telegraphed destination of pulsing core unlike any Prompto’s ever seen on soulless soldiers. Except he’s seen where this action has led on numerous occasions, of a dying MT’s final resort to cause as much damage as able without hesitation.

“SPERO!” Her hero makes to grab for her again as she steps back with a scared slip of a shriek, but once again evades his efforts to pull her back as if determined to be the one to keep him safe from his metaphorical self. Why the hell can’t he do anything right - Prompto knows that answer, too, residing in the gruesome sight that he can’t tear his eyes away from, a grotesque, inhuman fate that should have been his and he knows it no matter how he’s always tried to believe otherwise.

There’s no denying the proof before him, yet unable to completely doubt the guys would accept him regardless. They said so, didn’t they?

“ _Fa fana pudr rybbo, E fyc rybbo, yht dra, dra suhcdanc -!_ ” Spero chokes out, beginning to cry from the overwhelming ordeal that only gets worse the longer it drags on, trigger fingers hovering over instantaneous death she can’t commit herself to pull despite murderous intent. “ _E-E-E fyc cu rybbo, yht, yht oui, Ranu -”_

Without warning, she drops to her knees with a wail that squeezes her tiny lungs for all the air they contain, inhaling with a shaky breath that only breaks into more incoherent sobbing. The tears roll down her cheeks, making no move to wipe them away with gun still clenched in small hands aimed at the monster resuming its slow, painful action of unlatching its busted core port clogged with clots, gauntlet digging in the mass. Black blood drips from dark eyes once more, spilling onto ruptured armor as its mouth opens again with a wet, choking noise nothing more than a whir of a broken machine that almost sounds somewhat human to Prompto’s imagination.

Almost like a plea.

It’s his imagination.

It can’t be -

It isn’t -

But maybe it could be.

The Engine Blade pierces straight through its core.

“Damn machines just don’t know how to die.” Noct scoffs with disgust as the threat is neutralized, abomination crumpling aside with sword trapped in its gut, screaming as they always do when slain.

Yet never in such anguish, nor convulsing while grasping at the weapon embedded in its chest with the only good hand it has clenched as though holding something. Spero watches in horror, daemon blood splashed across dirty, wet face and doesn’t move as it finally goes still by aid of Prince making a revolted face, twisting the blade in the chaotic sludge of bubbling black and sliced wiring.

“Where the hell did this one even come from? Gross.” Noct asks mostly to himself, gagging at the repulsive mess left on his late father's gifted sword before banishing it back to the Armiger. He puts on a soft smile as though it never happened, mostly for the girl’s benefit as he steps over the corpse to crouch before her. “Uh, hey. You’re safe now, Spero. All dirty again, but safe. Let’s get you cleaned up, before Prom - Whoa-!”

He takes immediate notice of the familiar gun held in loose fingers, heart beating fast as he uncurls lax limbs that give it up with no resistance. Quicksilver vanishes into crystalline blue at his touch, yet Spero remains withdrawn. Silent. It’s worrying compared to how she was during their break and he’s the worst in terms of comforting, awkward in reading others wants and needs and acting accordingly. Pulling out the forgotten pack of tissues, he desperately looks for the gun’s owner and to his surprise isn’t much further off when peering past to where the blond kneels. He quickly wipes her face of the staining mess, yet her expression doesn’t change.

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Prompto. You just, uh. Stay here.”

Spero starts to cry, and he really doesn’t know how to proceed in a way that’ll make her stop, much less what brought this on. Thank the Gods that Gladio and Ignis are on their way, Prince having nonstop warped ahead at sight of the rogue, rampaging MT surely about to slaughter his friends. Thank Six he’d gotten there in time before it had, grateful for that as he temporarily leaves the weeping girl to approach his best friend.

“Prom...? Buddy, you good?” Noct reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder, eliciting a flinch as the blond falls backwards with a yelp and raises his arms to protect himself. He’s never seen him shake so bad, or at all, really, except the time he’d hogged all the blankets in his sleep and woke to a shivering Prompto too kind to ask for them back. “Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

“ _You’llkillme._ ” Is all the boy barely whispers, swallowing hard to contain the breakdown that’ll explode whether he wants it to or not, and he really, really doesn’t. " _You’llkillme_.”

“What? What are you saying? Prompto? Look, I killed that thing, so if you’re upset about that, don’t worry. I’m just glad the two of you are okay.” Noct glances over his shoulder to the crying child bending over and beginning to heave up partially digested snacks. “Okay, so. Not okay. What do I-? You...You’re good, though?”

 _No. No, I’m not. You’ll kill me, you’ll kill me. If you find out, you’ll kill me. Iggy and Gladio, too. You’ll all_ -

“Prom....? Hey. Look at me. You’re freaking me out. Shit, Prom, I don’t know how to help if you don’t tell me. Talk to me, buddy.”

 _I_ **_can’t_ ** _tell you_. There’s a million things he should, overwhelmed by the urge to scream, sob, and flee all at once as he grips the leather band harder than ever before. He can’t even look Noctis in the eye like the coward he is. “ _I_ _\- I’m so stupid_.”

“No, you’re not.” His only and best friend in all of Eos counters fiercely, worried as to why his strong stance on the matter has the blond flinch. “We all mess up, okay? Whatever this is about, it’s no big deal.”

 _Only the biggest deal in my life that is literally my life, no big deal. You’d kill me just like that MT if you knew_. Prompto shakes his head vehemently, watching from eons away as Shield and Advisor finally make it to their location, distantly aware of Gladio’s cursing at the slain monster’s corpse he prods with greatsword.

“Fucking Astrals, look at this monstrosity, never seen one of 'em this ugly. Sparrow was a badass to stand her ground against it.”

He knows he hears Ignis voice his immense displeasure, rubbing the child’s back comfortingly as she vomits and offers his canteen of water.

“The Empire’s cruelty shows no restraints when it comes to their experiments, as inhuman as their soldiers are. Fortunate for us all that Noct slew it before it harmed her. There, there, dove. Yes, it was a monster. It’s dead and it won’t hurt you ever again.”

“I’d kill them all before they even get a chance. Things like that get no mercy.” Noct adds over his shoulder, oblivious to how his best friend resists the urge to join the girl in throwing up for how his gut twists and clenches like a towel being wrung dry.

Prompto’s more than stupid for thinking that dying wish of unyielding acceptance could have been anything more, nothing less than what his kind deserves as he hides his darkest, fatalistic secret behind his back with nervous, anxious twisting along the band. Prompto evens his breathing before any look back to him, containing mental calamity that makes him want to be rid of that secret here and now, to get it done and over with despite greedily wanting their friendship for as long as he’s able. More than that even, but knows far better than to even hope before crushing revelation. They don’t love him now, knowing him as a normal human, and certainly won’t at learning his Nif and MT heritage.

Spero eventually wanders over to him after cautiously viewing the revolting monster of an MT that isn’t himself, taking vague notice of the flower’s absence in her hair that now rests on its corpse. Mask forced back on, the disguise of normality is strained under crushing weight he knows can’t be kept up forever no matter the amount of convincing lies, awful jokes, empty laughter and strained smiles.

Prompto should enjoy her company while it lasts, the guys’ too, for however brief it’ll be before they inevitably find out.

 _“Cho’bos?_ ” Spero asks hopefully, and finally does her hero stand to take offered little hand before lifting her high above his head and atop his shoulders. Noct's watching his every move, and he forces to smile with everything he's got as they walk over to reunite with Advisor and Shield.

"Hey, don't forget those other frogs we gotta find first."

"What, you didn't find them yet?"

"We were too busy looking for you two, dork."

"Aw, what would I do without you guys?"

"Not see those chocobos."

" _Cho'bos!_ "

"Alright, you heard the little lady! Find those frauges so we can see us some cho'bos!"

Watching the scene from afar, a most intrigued man of no consequence observes the curious case of a spirited away MT who thought himself human until reminded once again of his place. Smiling a little smile while humming the ex-trooper’s favored chocobo tune at the message received, he takes his leave until they’ll inevitably meet in the near future.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you've all been waiting for, in more ways than one. Apologies to leaving you all hanging for a month! 
> 
> This chapter is kind of a monster and a tad heavier in the angst department than previous. You don't have to read it, but may be happier to note the end notes.

 

 

MTs do not feel pain.

But that is all NH-05953233 knows.

It is malfunctioning, _malfunctioning,_ **_mAlfuNCtioNiNg_**.

The trooper is propped along the tall stalk its glitching database recalls collapsing against, unable to move for all the agony that courses through its wiring, rendering it near inoperable as it tries to retrieve its last known data that scatters just out of reach for every aching throb of its core. It knows enough that the object currently occupying in its chest piece is incompatible, the source corrupting all primary functions and mobility. NH-05953233 should remove jarring device immediately before the corroding damage becomes irreversible, but retains enough knowledge that it does not have a suitable replacement. MTs have only one core, have only one power source that provides function and to be sacrificed as a last resort. The previous had been decimated for reasons the unit does not remember. It must have been in a situation that required sacrifice, but why.

Why is NH-05953233 online.

Why does it have a new, inoperable core that _hurts_.

Why does it feel so much _pain_.

NH-05953233 should not be online.

This is wrong.

MTs do not have questions. MTs do not have wishes or desires of any kind. But questions are all NH-05953233 has and wants nothing more than for the pain to cease. It attempts to lift its left gauntlet in order to do so, and finds it to be clenched. There is something it is holding that the trooper cannot remember having. MTs possess only weapons like the gun it has gripped in its right. Slowly uncurling fingers one by one, it views the object hidden within.

NH-05953233 has never seen anything so fragile yet beautiful. Small and delicate. A small piece of color. For a moment, the pain is nonexistent as it stares at it, filled with a feeling it can scarcely recall. There is nothing it knows as to why the result is reacting in this way.

Then NH-05953233 _remembers_.

The memories hit it at full force, data streaming at impossible speeds that nearly shuts it down to try and hold onto everything that flies by at a blinding rate. There’s so much. Too much. Sights far grander than the mundane dull grey of the laboratories, a world full of colors it never knew could exist like the varying shades of earth and that which covers the ground it is surrounded by in all shapes and sizes. A plethora of sounds more than harsh speaking, from growling beasts to that of melodious chimes. Nothing contained in small spaces, but vast and open and never-ending to broad horizons. Sensations it never thought possible, of warmth and kindness, disobedience without corrections, wet and messy, hurt yet...yet _happy_.

 _Human_.

And at the center of it all is _her_. The lingering static in its aching chest that brings that indescribable feeling laced with pain. Its visuals can imagine her so vividly, of the girl it was ordered to bring to the Experimental Department and who changed everything NH-05953233 thought it knew for it didn’t need to know anything else. But now it knows so much and it _hurts_. It hurts even more when the last of the overwhelming memories replay, of its determination to keep her safe for a final time.

The desire of information as to why it is online with a corruptive core no longer matters.

The pain does not matter.

All that matters is Human Test Subject #23.

NH-05953233 can hardly stand, but it doesn’t matter.

The gunner cannot walk without its processes blaring like sirens to cease immediately, yet that doesn’t matter either as the unit breaks into a run that’s no more than stumbling from stalk to stalk in its’ hurried pace to reach the cave it had left her in.

It trips over offline MTs, crashing to the wet ground.

They don’t matter, and neither does the pain it can’t completely ignore with a limp.

NH-05953233 reaches the shelter, and that is all that matters.

But Human Test Subject #23 is not there.

She is gone, _she is gone,_ **_ShE Is GoNe_** **.**

NH-05953233 drops to its knees.

“Curious things, flowers.” A voice drawls from behind and NH-05953233 pivots its head to see the speaker, a man dressed in layers with hair the color of the setting sun. He pays the MT no mind as if nonexistent, preoccupied by flower held between fingers. It looks very much like the one it possesses and checks its empty hand. It does not recall dropping it as the man continues talking. “They sprout in the most unusual of places, harsh and barren where they shouldn’t exist, and yet flourish despite their hostile environment. Curious things indeed, much like the human soul.”

NH-05953233 does not understand, only that the pain in its chest tightens.

“Now the heart of a daemon, there’s nothing more inhospitable than that to a puppet of a host. Call it curiosity then, to see if a manufactured toy’s so-called soul is strong enough to withstand such an experiment. It’d make for quite the finale to an entertaining show to see which wins out in the end.”

The MT blinks and the man is gone, flower left abandoned at the mouth of the cave. NH-05953233 crawls over to the precious treasure, clutching it close to its core that throbs. It determines that the strange man and his words do not matter, just relieved that its last connection to Human Test Subject #23 is safe as it opens its chest port to securely place the flower within. It must find her, but does not know where she could have gone. Limping heavily out from the cave, it comes to the conclusion to check the pools of liquid with leaping creatures first. She was happy there. She must have gone there. The MT feels heavy, fractured armor dragging it down with every step as it painstakingly staggers over the destination that appears far longer though distance exactly the same as last time. It trips into stalks, stumbles through thick gatherings of oddly shaped grass, and slips upon wet earth, crashing through without a care to things that do not matter.

Only Human Test Subject #23 matters, and she is not there.

She is not there, _she is not there,_ **_sHe iS NoT THerE_** **.**

NH-05953233 short-circuits.

It does not go offline, and it is not certain if it should be happy of that or not. All the gunner feels is pain upon the ground it finds itself laying upon, right at the fluid’s edge. For a moment it thinks it is back at the laboratories when looking upon the still surface and sees another MT unit that does not look quite like an MT unit. Their face is paler, visual receptors not burning red but dimmed down as if low on power. NH-05953233 has enough processing power to acknowledge that it is itself that it is staring at for two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. It takes approximately zero minutes and zero seconds for the trooper to care, for it does not without Human Test Subject #23.

It must find her at all costs. It must--

_“H-Hero!”_

NH-05953233 does not believe in anything, not luck nor chance, and especially not the Astrals, but it desperately desires to each and every one it thinks to exist for the plea it swears it heard to have been true. To hear her voice again, if not requesting for too much. It doesn’t really know how that works, or if they’d find mercy for a soulless machine to grant its wish. They shouldn’t. It isn’t human, and MTs are not permitted ask for anything. NH-05953233 is wasting time when it should be looking for-  

“ _Hero!_ ”

It blinks as though a heavy weight has been lifted from its chest, dizzy from the lack of pain that had been all encompassing now shoved to the side as the MT nearly pitches forward at rising to its feet. It hunts after the shrieking plea, sprints towards the wailing call for her hero. Human Test Subject #23 wants her hero. Needs her hero. It cannot risk failing her again. It crashes through thick brushes of grass that catch onto its armor, malfunctioning core disorientating it further with every step forward before collapsing only to rise back up. There are monsters in the maze of stalks that snarl and hiss as they prowl unseen, a twisted competition that will end in life or death. The girl will live if it can reach her in time. She will die if the beasts get to her first.

In the end, NH-05953233 is not fast enough.

Bloodthirsty monsters of pale yellow fur like its hair beneath helm and with dark sequences of spots yowl while quarreling over what the MT cannot see and does not need to view. It knows enough by stolen sight of the bag torn to shreds, possessions within destroyed by brutal mauling.

Yet it cannot look away. It is unable to halt the liquid that slowly streams from its eyes, either. Black droplets spill down its cheeks, down onto heavy, stifling armor that hitches with every choking breath. It is malfunctioning. It has never malfunctioned like this.

Yet it cannot stop even as its aching form listlessly falls to hard earth, joints screaming in agony, alerting one of the creatures with long, nimble appendages that convulse in the air. Sparks emit from the ends, as deadly a weapon as sharp fangs barred with a threatening roar. MTs do not retreat. MTs always strike back.

Yet it cannot do either, gun heavy in its right gauntlet. The malfunction of inaction is not concerning.

It has no purpose without her.

* * *

 

It thinks of Human Test Subject #23, of keeping her safe and sound. It comes up with scenarios that become real like a simulation, from picking flowers of every color to ‘feeding’ ‘meanies’ that allow it to give them the ‘grass’ to standing so very still as liquid rains down from the sky. She smiles because she is happy, pulling her hero along to each and every sight just as wondrous as the last. Everything is satisfactory. It is happy and _human_.

NH-05953233 comes back online with nothing but a numb emptiness that soon escalates into unbearable anguish.

It is bleeding from beast-sized gashes and puncture wounds. Its light-proof armor is in need of immediate repair before rendered useless under the sun sure to rise any moment. Its present core is incompatible and must be removed before it loses all function to the volatile substance coursing through its system, versed enough that it is the very same that once flowed throughout.

NH-05953233 has no orders to do anything. It has no purpose.

But.

But it can come up with a new primary objective.

The flower is the last it has of Human Test Subject #23. It wants. Wants to find that place of flowers to leave where she would have been happy. Then it can go offline.

Permanently.

* * *

 

It marches and marches and marches through the lasting night, through swarms of its blood brethren wandering as aimlessly as the severely damaged MT does. There is no need to assault the daemons of the night as they pose no threat or show signs of hostility urging it to change course to avoid conflict it is in no state to survive, much less win. Whenever its wayward path crosses with contorted shadows, the monsters back away in altered direction. NH-05953233 does not understand why they pause before retreating back into the darkness as if it is a monster. It is just another MT, a defective trooper facing the price of corrections it had gone too long without, and rightfully deserves after failing to stay with and protect Human Test Subject #23. It is not a threat in the least with how it is succumbing to internal corruption.

Though the gunner can see obstacles standing in its path, it stumbles and falters much like the girl had, nothing preventing the unit from taking fall after fall after fall after fall. When it tries to catch itself, it only hurts more. So it falls, resisting the urge to go offline while pushing itself back upright only for it to inevitably repeat the process.

Despite its determined efforts, it doesn’t make much distance from shredded satchel when the sun begins to rise. NH-05953233 had once thought it to be beautiful, had wished to see it with its own eyes without punishing correction. With mask left behind, it has nothing to shield itself.

Now it is nothing but pain, light searing all it touches.

Every exposing gash slashed on armor, every penetrative bullet caught perilously close to vital ports and joints

It burns, _it burns,_ **_iT bURnS_**.

The last NH-05953233 remembers is taking cover behind a cluster of stalks, hearing bullets ring out in the not-so-far distance. It shouldn’t go offline with threats in the perimeter, shouldn’t go offline at all, not when it is uncertain if it will come back.

It is uncertain if it even wants to in a reality without Human Test Subject #23.

* * *

 

The amount of time the unit spent offline is indeterminate, only that the sun is sinking behind stalk-covered mountains once more.

NH-05953233 thinks of Human Test Subject #23 even though she is gone. It thinks of her voice it can still hear, strained and scared, of snarling beasts chasing after her as she whimpers and cries for her hero to save her. It wants nothing more to, willing every shred of faulty wiring into action to no avail. The pain grows and grows, incompatible core aching with every erratic beat. It is futile, it knows, to think of the failures, the ‘dead’ and gone. She is no more than the echoes it hears in its database and of these hallucinations resulting from malfunctioning processes. NH-05953233 manages to coordinate its left gauntlet over its chest port to where the flower remains safe and secure by its core, its ‘heart’.

The tiny piece of happiness is still in there, and so is Human Test Subject #23.

* * *

 

The agony has reached a new percentage when the trooper slowly, slowly powers back online - as little as is available. It lies on the ground for a very long moment, unable to count the seconds that tick by into minutes and then into hours of partial sunlight burning exposed skin and boiling sluggishly bleeding black.

It should move into the shade before the damage worsens.

It has its order, its purpose, to escort the flower to where the girl would have been happiest if it hadn’t failed to protect her.

It should start moving to complete its final objective.

But NH-05953233 hasn’t the energy, can hardly lift its right arm nor lessen the grip it has on the rifle clenched impossibly tight and unable to release even if it wanted to.

It doesn’t know why it thinks of Human Test Subject #23 as it lies so very still while suffering endless corrections. It doesn’t know why thinking of her makes the pain become slightly more tolerable. It doesn’t have much time to dwell on the despair, doesn’t have much time at all.

The sun is blocked out, and dull eyes listlessly look up at the clear sky as to why.

The Empire’s dropship hovers like a death omen, transforming into a beacon of hope.

It’s highly improbable. It shouldn’t be. MTs does not make errors. It knows what it saw.

What it never did see.

It rises to its feet, aching core racing, stuttering to life with the only hope it has to go on.

 _She’s alive_.

* * *

 

NH-05953233 fries under direct sunlight, but it doesn’t care. For every rapid beat of its corrupt core, the trooper can feel the toxic levels of daemon blood rising through its system, making it all the more difficult to run as best it is able. The slowest it is able, sure to have failed even the most basic of ruthless drills.

But the MT does not care.

It does not register when it catches on snapped stalks and large rocks, too preoccupied with the heart-stopping sight of fellow units dropping from the airship’s docking bay doors, an ambushing squadron it recalls only too well. If - no, it cannot risk _‘if’_ \- Human Test Subject #23 is out there, still alive after all this time without her hero’s protection, and she won’t last much longer if it does not get there before...before.

NH-05953233 cannot allow that outcome. Not again.

Every step is a challenge it narrowly succeeds in, swaying through the near overwhelming increase of sharpening pain that bursts forth from every manufactured fiber of its being as it runs. Drags itself, mostly, on the only good leg it has, and even then isn’t as it visually tracks the dropship hover a few moments more before flying away from its destination still so far away. It isn’t that far, not really, but the dying trooper is so slow that it gives the illusion.

The sun hurts, intense rays scalding flesh and sizzling the copious amount of blood that flows from open wounds bleeding freely from rigorous movement.

Its helm hurts, a staggering weight throwing it further off balance though it cannot fathom why. It does not have the luxury of time to investigate the twisting of its shadow chasing its side.

Pain is all the MT knows.

Hope is all it feels.

In the end, NH-05953233 is not fast enough.

It’s nothing short of a massacre from its sweeping glimpses of decimated soldiers, of the Empire’s finest carelessly scattered about as if no more than scrap metal. Human Test Subject #23 is not amongst them, is not anywhere its vision tunnels for the child it had wished more than anything to see for one last time. Its core aches for an entirely new reason it does not understand, as if suffering a great loss though it is there and beating.

NH-05953233 is malfunctioning, _malfunctioning,_ **_maLFunCTI-_ **

“Hero!”

All at once, the pain is nonexistent.

All at once, it is like NH-05953233 is free to use its respiratory system despite feeling unable to inhale, choking on a garbled breath.

Human Test Subject #23 is alive.

She’s alive, _she’s alive_ , **_She’S ALiVe._ **

NH-05953233 freezes in place, overwhelmed by sensations that make it feel as though it is floating where it is planted firmly to the ground. The girl is smiling, liquid streaming from those eyes the color of the sky above, calling out for her hero who cannot move, as dirty and disheveled as the day it had left despite the falling sky fluid. It is her. There is no mistaking it, percentage of error dwindling as she runs as fast as her short legs can carry her towards--

A stranger that is not NH-05953233, but shares enough physical features that can only mean the impostor is an MT, a clone that the child hugs as it embraces her in return, both a mess on wet earth.

It does not understand.

 _It does not understand_.

There is so much it does not understand.

It does not understand why she is not fearful of the stranger even as she cries and cries. It does not understand how their body is not disintegrating under sunlight without armor, in nothing but dark fabrics. It does not understand when it gathers her in its arms, performing a rocking motion with words so quiet it does not hear over the distance. It understands just as little when the clone removes a different flower from its blond hair to place it in the child’s own. It does not understand why the girl is happy with the clone that shares its face.

NH-05953233’s legs begin moving on their own, unaware for how its focus remains solely on Human Test Subject #23. The decaying corpses of MTs do not matter. The heroic impostor does not matter. It just. It wants. To make her smile again like that, too. It wants to make her happy like when it would always return to her side after combat, no different than now.

The gunner crashes into a fallen unit, metal clanging upon hollow metal, alerting the pair to its presence. She looks over, stunned, and it stands still, expects to see that widening smile of missing teeth as she’ll break free from the doppelganger to give her true hero a hug after finally returning to her side.

Human Test Subject #23 _screams_ , breaks free from the equally stunned impostor’s hold to hide behind it.

“ _M-Monster!_ ” She whimpers with a cry, flinching when NH-05953233 takes a slow, slow step closer.

It can recall enough that it does not look quite like an MT unit, no longer the properly functioning weapon of the Empire, the last visual it had obtained of itself of dulled eyes and pale skin. But it is not a monster. NH-05953233 is an MT unit. It knows what monsters are as much as she does, of what they look and act like. It is not a monster. It is an MT.

It is her hero.

The wounded warrior can barely walk straight, straining with great effort to robotically place one foot before the other in the obstacle course of a graveyard of its dead brethren. It sways heavily as though carrying the weight of the world upon its broken back. Thick globs of daemon blood slip past its cracked lips that’re trembling for every cry that hitches out of the frightened child. It is okay. It does not understand why she is so afraid of it. It protected her, in the end, so why is she not happy of its successful performance? The fear directed towards it hurts more than all the pain it has endured combined, yet the trooper marches steadily on, one microscopic footstep after the next over a short distance that’s never been greater.

NH-05953233 reaches its left arm out, faltering forward as it stretches downwards to where Human Test Subject #23 cowers and cries all the more.

The manufactured clone which shares its face does nothing. Just stares.

“ ** _D-D...on...’t...”_ ** MTs do not make pleas, but MTs also do not have malfunctions, even speak to begin with, or weep. There is no amount of corrections that will fix NH-05953233 as it disobeys all it was strictly punished against.

Its vision blurs, becomes difficult to focus as thick fluid stickily streams down pallid cheeks. She cries harder, horrified at the sight it cannot help.

“ ** _Le...ave....m...me..._ ** ”

The impostor finally moves, reaching for something that the MT cannot see and neither can it as it searches for what cannot be found.

Human Test Subject #23 holds the gun.

“ _I won’t let you hurt him!”_ The child howls, and for a second that lasts for hours, NH-05953233 believes her behavior to have been a clever ruse all along, taking any means of survival by pretending to be compliant to the clone until the opportune moment arose to strike. The girl rises, handgun held by both small hands, near tripping on unsteady feet to position herself between them as the strange unit yells at her.

She ignores it entirely.

“ _This time I’ll protect you, Hero!”_ She stands tall regardless of obvious terror in those wide, red-rimmed eyes, and the MT is be pleased of her unyielding intent to hold her ground, of the immense bravery her tiny, timid frame contains. She means what she claims, and is determined to see it through herself, all because of its numerous failures to keep her safe.

It is then uncertain if it should be pleased upon realizing the gun aimed directly at its core.

NH-05953233 is not the hero she wishes to protect.

It does not understand.

_It does not understand._

**_WhY IS theRE so Much IT dOes NOT UnDerstAND._ **

It has been trained in several drills for similar scenarios like this. If a threat is posed to the unit, it is to exterminate them by any means necessary to ensure its survival, unless assuring the survival of a human soldier by self-sacrifice. The MT halts its meager advancements, bleeding black eyes locked not on the dangerous weapon in the hands of an emotionally compromised child, but her dirty face wrought with despair. This is _Human Test Subject #23_.

 _This is not right_.

It cannot raise its weapon at her. Not now, and not ever. It would do anything to make her happy, to change that expression back to a smile, back to when...when it felt...

**_hU-_ **

_“You’re a monster!”_

NH-05953233 is spurred back into action at the accusation that is not true, stumbling forward a half-step causing it to almost fall over, left arm retreating back to its side as though shocked, a reinforcement method to control unnecessary impulse interference. Like the day she’d awoken, shaking and sobbing of monsters, Human Test Subject #23’s responses to its minuscule movements are nothing but whimpering and flinching backwards. It is not a monster. NH-05953233 is an MT unit. It is a defective, malfunctioning, broken machine that is hardly recognizable as an MT, in both ruptured armor smoking beneath the sun, and actions that would have had it corrected over and over - if not decommissioned. If it does not follow the scientists’ textbook definition of what makes an MT an MT, then what would that make it.

What would it want to be.

It wants to be what will make her happy.

It just. Wants her to be happy.

Though she aims the gun at its chest, primed to fire, it cannot conclude it to make her happy. If it were to make her happy, her hero would let her without hesitation. It wonders if she knows this for how she hesitates to kill like a newly sanctioned MT given its first weapon and order to eliminate their first live target. Shooting will not make her happy.

It knows what will.

NH-05953233 directs all its dying strength into final resort of retrieving the flower from pulsating core. The clone shouts what it presumes to be a warning, making to grab for the child once more and again failing as she shrieks. It refuses all its’ training directing it to eliminate them. It won’t harm them, not even the strange MT after its killed so many so far. It is...odd, but poses no immediate threat. Human Test Subject #23 holds the threat of a gun, and it will never shoot, never raise a hand against the girl that’s changed everything it thought it only needed to know.

Made it feel...

“ _We were both happy, I was happy, and the, the monsters-!_ ” She begins to cry, pure sorrow making tiny shoulders quiver and causing the gun to tremble in unsteady hands. NH-05953233 wants nothing more than to comfort her, to make this right. To atone for its failures. It had calculated no other outcome resulting in her survival without sacrifice of its own. “ _I-I-I was so happy, and, and you, Hero-_ ”

Died.

Human Test Subject #23 doesn’t say it, actions screaming volumes as she drops to her knees with a wail that greedily steals the air out from small lungs. It has never witnessed her cry so hard, so small and helpless. Her hero can allow this no longer, impostor visually stricken by her tears yet still unmoving. If it was a regular MT unit, NH-05953233 should be terminated by now, and the girl next or captured.

But the rogue trooper remains standing on rickety legs despite operating at dangerously low levels. It is still functioning by incompatible core pumping unstable concentrations of toxins within its body. It can hardly see for all the daemon blood obscuring its optical receptors as it drips freely, spilling onto shattered armor as it blindly digs for the flower amongst clogging clots of blood.

In the end, NH-05953233 was fast enough.

“ ** _...pl...pl...ea-ea...se._ ** ”

In the end, NH-05953233 came back to Human Test Subject #23.

“ ** _P-Pl...e...ase..._ ** ”

In the end, NH-05953233 possesses what it held all along, stronger than the heart of the most powerful daemon.

This unit has a soul.

It wishes, it wishes, it wishes.

Because it is, _it is,_ **_iT Is--_ **

A damn machine that just doesn’t know how to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus comes the end of "Mori Velle", A Dying Wish.
> 
> Stay tuned for a much cheerier epilogue after that doozy of an ending, or just end your enjoyment of this little story here. Personal preference, I suppose, as while I think it satisfying as is, a little fluff to cushion heavy angst never hurt anyone :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay again! Life kinda kicked my butt for a bit, but it turns out I had enough in me for another chapter before the fluff (possibly a two-parter, just depends how much I write/meet my minimum per chapter), so yay? Yay. Thank you all so much for reading/commenting/kudos as always <333

_“Fucking Astrals, look at this_ **_monstrosity_** _, never seen one of ‘em this_ **_ugly_**."

_“The Empire’s cruelty shows no restraints when it comes to their_ **_experiments_** _, as_ **_inhuman_ ** _as their soldiers are.”_

_“I’d_ **_kill_ ** _them all before they even get a chance._ **_Things_ ** _like that get_ **_no mercy_** _.”_

A hand clamps down on Prompto’s shoulder and he bites back a yelp, jumping into alertness in the Regalia’s backseat. His heart beats a million per second at sight of Noct’s face, though not for the usual reason as the Prince’s amused smirk falters into concern at the unexpected reaction to waking the blond from supposed daydream. For being one who always sought physical contact, Prompto looks about ready to flee, flinching back at the realization of Noct’s hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Hey, are you--”

“Bad dream.” Prompto isn’t lying completely, blurting the excuse out before best friend can fully ask what’s got him on edge this time. Hiding his face with a yawn, he steels himself to pull fractured pieces together into an easy smile as he looks around at surroundings recognized as Coernix Station. “Sooo, we dropped off those frogs yet?”

“Specs and Gladio are on it. Took Spero with ‘em, too, to say ‘goodbye.’” Noctis replies casually, can venture a guess as to what’s on his mind but without the confidence of how to approach the subject, especially with Prompto acting unlike himself. He knows enough of his best friend that asking what’s wrong is easy, but pulling real answers out of him like that of teeth. “Think Iggy just wanted to keep an eye on her, see how she’s holding up.”

“How-How is she?” Prompto remembers enough of tiny hands holding deadly weapon with initial intent to shoot, of how she had wailed in anguish he didn’t need to understand to feel her pain, all because he’d failed to protect her. While the reminder of promised chocobos had placated her after the traumatic event, it hadn’t stopped the girl from practically becoming one with his shadow, clinging closer than ever before in search for the last two frogs.

“I’m not really one to ask.” Noct admits while scratching at the back of his neck. Even him, typically the most oblivious of the four, had noticed of the return of withdrawn behavior. Spero had been quiet throughout the car ride over, listlessly watching the ribbiting frogs in the cooler between them. “That MT thing must’ve really freaked her out, y’know? I mean, you _do_ know. You were kinda there.”

“It never attacked.” He doesn’t know why he voices that aloud when the same fact’s been droning in his head, over and over.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t going to, Prom. I wasn’t going to let it just...just...I wasn’t going to lose you two. Not after everything else.” Noct meets his eyes, gorgeous midnight sharp with concern, speaking for him of just how scared he’d been while charging forward to save their lives before the inevitable could occur. Prompto knows that look, the very same when he says something unintentionally upsetting. _Hurt_. “There’s no such thing as a good MT. It _was_ going to attack. You should know that by now, after what they did to _our home_. They’re all bad, every last one of them.”

_Don’t you dare tell him._

_Tell him, you idiot, tell him._

_He’ll kill you if you do._

_He’ll kill you if you don’t._

“N-Noct--”

“Sparrow incoming for a landing.” Gladio announces their return, Prompto immediately shutting his mouth as the big guy opens the back door for the girl not even protesting as she’s gently picked up and set on the blond’s lap. She shifts slightly to make herself comfortable and he finds himself resting arms around petite form. “Next stop: cho’bos.”

“Indeed. It won’t take very long to reach Wiz’s Chocobo Post.” Ignis adds, taking the driver’s seat once again. The Advisor glances back through the rear view mirror, key hanging idle at the ignition. “Are you alright, Prompto?”

**_No._ **

“Of course!” Lying is the one thing he does best it seems, an easy addiction that’s going to get him killed despite prolonging his selfish desperation for all the happiness he can scavenge before it’ll all be ripped away like a sword to his gut. “I’ve been looking forward to chocobos since, like, forever. I can’t wait!”

The strategist hardly appears convinced in the slightest despite how true that may have been at one time, inquisitive gaze lowering from blond companion to silent child grasping at sleeveless vest.

“Perhaps you could look into those basic primers I spoke of earlier, then, while we make way for the Post.”

It’s a suggestion that sounds more like an order, though the blond understands what he’s getting at. Spero’s got them all worried, and Prompto knows damn well the kid wouldn’t be so messed up if he’d just followed through on his sworn vow to keep her safe from harm. He’s in Crownsguard for fuck’s sake, an MT on its’ last legs should have been a piece of cake.

It hadn’t even _attacked_.

“You sure these are the basics, Specs?” Noct interrupts his inner monologue with a sharp frown while scrolling through his phone’s translate feature. “This is way too confusing.”

“I believe you said the very same when I tried teaching you as a child.”

Noct shoots him a pouting look before helplessly diving back into complicated conjunctions, Gladio making a comment that perhaps he would’ve learned better awake than asleep. The banter continues as Ignis pulls them away from the Station, but Spero pays them no mind, even showing no interest to changing scenery that had once caught eyes filled with a child’s wonder. Prompto bites his bottom lip while withdrawing his phone, action earning a peep of noise from the girl as he shifts. The Prince is right about one thing as he searches through simple phrases like that of rocket science, but he owes Spero to at least try.

_Are. You. Okay?_

_Yna. Oui. Ugyo?_

Three little words that may as well be the understatement of the year and response as obvious as the grass is green. Gently tapping the girl’s shoulder, her head lifts to sorrowfully look up at him before following the quick gesture to look at the device.

Spero sniffles, shaking her head.

_Why?_

_Fro?_

Tears drip down cheeks sticky from those barely dried and Prompto is torn in half between relief when she does speak, yet heartbroken at the whisper of a reply as though it hurts to say it aloud. Ignis must have caught it, carefully eavesdropping while keeping both eyes safely on the road, and he’s suddenly aware of how quiet the car’s gone. Noct and Gladio are both watching. The Advisor asks her something in Nif to which she verbally doesn’t answer, instead little fingers reaching for the photographer’s phone.

_Oui teat du cyja sa._

_You died to save me._

_E zicd fyhdat du cyja oui Ranu._

_I just wanted to save you Hero._

_E fyhdat du cu pyt pid E luimth’d_.

_I wanted to so bad but I couldn’t._

_Luimth’d_.

_Couldn’t._

_Luimth’d_

_Couldn’t._

Tears drip onto the screen, phone slipping out of tiny fingers, and Prompto can just make out the whimper of “ _E’s cunno, E’s cunno.”_ as it falls down to where, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is that Spero is crying, and with a heavy heart does he gently pull her wet face against his chest. It’s not the harsh, full-body sobbing resulting from immense relief or paralyzing fear, but quiet with grief finally given an outlet, finally given a chance to express unbearable guilt towards the hero she’d thought lost forever.

But Prompto isn’t him.

He’s not the hero her traumatized mind’s convinced herself to believe because she can’t handle the alternative after his ultimate sacrifice. He’s no hero that’s caused her broken heart to cling to him like a security blanket, isn’t the one who really earned her complete trust. He’s just Prompto, just some pleb that resembles her hero. If she knew who -- _what --_ he really is, she wouldn’t be here, earlier reactions and actions against MTs proof of that.

He can’t tell Spero the truth.

A hand hovers but an inch over his shoulder, coming into his view just as Noct’s clearly concerned face does. Even though they’re not touching, Prince not wanting a repeat of the last incident, Prompto still swallows hard past the lump in his throat. They’re at the Post, but nobody’s getting out. All their eyes are on him, three pairs of eyes waiting for him to talk, because that’s also what he does best next to lying, a human chatterbox hiding inner pain with ceaseless prattle.

“He...He’s dead.” He whispers for Spero’s sanity’s sake even though she can’t hear or understand him, covering her ear with a hand while stroking hazel hair with a thumb like comforting a baby bird beneath his wing. “Her real Ranu, her _real_ hero. She’s only been like this with me because she thinks I’m him. Still does.”

A chocobo ‘kweh’s in the not-so-far distance and Spero sits up a little before settling back down.

“Spero must’ve seen me after...after it happened, or it might’ve been days or a week after, I don’t know. All I can figure is this is why she’s so attached, y’know? Like, she wasn’t abandoned on purpose or left to fend for herself. Someone _was_ looking out for her, and he cared a lot for her, obviously, since he...he died protecting her.”

Prompto expects Ignis to speak up with a dozen analytical conclusions he’s come to, but the Advisor is silent with thought. It’s a lot to process, especially thinking from a young child’s perspective of processing overwhelming emotions and loss. That’d explain quite a few things such as the state they’d found her in, unresponsive to all their attempts to coax her out of hiding until Prompto had merely shown his face.

“Lucky Spero that you and the first guy had so much in common. I mean, say what you will, but you’ve been doing great with her, Prom. No wonder she thinks you’re her hero--you pretty much are.” Noct is sincere, meaning every word without the typical underlying tease. “I bet he’d be relieved knowing that you’re keeping her safe in his place.”

“Guess I can’t be too pissed off at ‘em then. Was gonna punch their lights out, too.” Gladio frowns after a moment, seeming to regret the boiling anger directed to imaginings of a cowardly bastard abandoning a little girl out in dangerous wetlands to save their own skin. “But Noct ain’t wrong. Not like anything’ll happen to me or that Iris can’t look after herself, but it’d be a major relief knowing she’d have a good set of eyes looking after her.”

“Indeed. I believe we owe this heroic stranger our thanks rather than hatred without knowing the story, or rather Spero’s side, as it were.” Ignis agrees, keeping it shockingly short despite it being clear there’s far more on his mind on the subject. “I can think of no better way to repay his sacrifice than to resume caring for Spero to the best of our abilities, else let it be for naught.”

Prompto blinks away double-vision from misty eyes, taking the compliments and praise that he doesn’t feel he deserves for just doing what anyone in his situation would, but the guys really mean it, so why can’t he--

_“Fucking Astrals, look at this_ **_monstrosity_** _, never seen one of ‘em this_ **_ugly_**."

_“The Empire’s cruelty shows no restraints when it comes to their_ **_experiments_** _, as_ **_inhuman_ ** _as their soldiers are.”_

_“I’d_ **_kill_ ** _them all before they even get a chance._ **_Things_ ** _like that get_ **_no mercy_** _.”_

Right.

They don’t really mean it.

When they find out who -- _what_ \-- he really is, they’ll take it all back and Noct’ll end him just like that MT. Not quick, not merciless, not after all these years he’s been deceiving them all.

At least now he knows they’ll look after Spero in his place.

That’s all Prompto can wish for.

 


End file.
